


pilgrimage

by wolfsupremacist



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Chastity Device, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, M/M, MAMA Era Powers (EXO), Magic, Rimming, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-01-07 13:22:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 193,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18411497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfsupremacist/pseuds/wolfsupremacist
Summary: That was how it went for years, Sehun thinks to himself. He had come of age eight summers ago, but Junmyeon always took the pilgrimage himself. And Sehun was fine with that.Until he wasn’t, of course.He doesn’t know exactly what changes inside him, but with twenty-four summers under his cap, he thinks himself due for an adventure.





	1. book one, chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> [some recommended listening](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UVBkwlVRHxA&feature=youtu.be) and [a map of the world](https://imgur.com/a/PVBUoQo)

“It’s a long journey,” Junmyeon says, wrapping the wool scarf tight around Sehun’s neck. “You must remember to be careful. You don’t know who you’ll meet along the way. You don’t know what could happen. Are you sure you want to go through with this?” 

Junmyeon is his best friend. His family, really.

“Junmyeon, I’ll be fine,” Sehun says. 

He’s been well-trained. On what to say. What not to say. How to behave. How to speak, with formality and modesty on his tongue. How to bow, subservient before a god amongst men. How to kneel, if need be. 

“You say that,” Junmyeon says nervously. “But you’ve never really left before. And you’ve never met him before.” 

“I know, I know,” Sehun says, fiddling with his bag. “How difficult could he be, though?” 

Junmyeon frowns. It speaks a thousand words.  
  


♔

Sehun looks out over their farm. The desolation that the winter wrought is long gone now. They’ve worked long hours, days turning to weeks, to prepare for the spring now upon them.

They’ve done well, very well, for years now. Thanks to Junmyeon. Thanks to his sacrifice. 

When Sehun turns, the musty, torn map is placed in his hands, Junmyeon frowning again. 

“Come back safely,” Junmyeon says, and he fidgets before pulling Sehun into an embrace, dragging him down. “If you feel at all frightened, if you get into any trouble, there’s no shame in turning back and coming home. Don’t force yourself to do this.” 

“You worry too much,” Sehun says as he pats Junmyeon on the back and gently extricating himself from the hug. “It’s time I spared you the trip and went myself.” 

Junmyeon’s frown greets him. 

“I’m older. I’m supposed to take care of you. This...this journey is not for the weak of spirit.” 

“Oh?” He smirks as he lifts himself up easily onto his horse. “Am I weak of spirit, then?” 

“That’s not what I meant,” Junmyeon says. “Just...remember what I told you. He’s wild.” 

There is something so exciting about the promise of adventure, the savage, beautiful, terrifying untamed spirit of adventure. 

“All gods are. I’ll be fine. I’m very charming, remember?” 

“Yes,” Junmyeon says, rolling his eyes. “I remember.” 

“So spend your time more wisely. Don’t worry about me. I’ll handle the blessing. Sow the fields well. Make it so that when I return, the work is easy.” 

“I’ll do my best,” Junmyeon smiles. “Go, if you must. Before you lose the day.” 

Sehun spurs the horse on, and he’s off on his very first pilgrimage.  
  


♔

There is not much to do, Sehun realizes within his first few hours of riding, not much to do at all besides think.

He’s spent his entire life on the farm, content to live peacefully, work and play and laugh and do little else. He and Junmyeon are soft-hearted, he knows, knows that they are prime targets for all manner of thieves and battle-hardened mercenaries, but they’ve survived well for their years together. 

He sends his thanks to the God of Light. 

Baekhyun is what the common folk call him, and they say he glows like the summer sun, hot and bright. Magic flows from his hands like blood falls from pricked fingers. Those who worship at his altar flock to him in the height of the heat to plead for his mercy, to seek his blessing. 

Sehun is more than old enough now, and though Junmyeon has been putting it off and making excuses as to why Sehun _shouldn’t_ go, he’s eager to finally meet his god. 

He’s seen one before, of course: the one they call Chanyeol, the God of Inferno. 

When he came, it felt like Hell was alive. When he came, Sehun felt the heat before he heard the screams. When he came, the fields burned like a trembling red ocean as the Blazing One hovered above it all. He was handsome and terrifying, beautiful and cruel. 

“Go inside,” Junmyeon had said. “Bar the door, and hide until I tell you to come out.” 

Sehun ran, did as Junmyeon told him to. He hurriedly threw the latch to the door, hid under the window, and watched as they spoke. Fear crept through Sehun as Junmyeon shook his fist at the god, but eventually, Chanyeol’s face fell to shock. And Sehun pushed open the window just an inch to listen. 

“He won’t forgive such an injustice,” Junmyeon threatened, and Sehun smiled, thinking of the way Baekhyun’s power would always be strong enough to protect them. 

“Ah,” Chanyeol said, fiddling his hands. “Can’t we keep this between us? Between friends?” 

After that, they had gold, more gold than they knew what to do with. They repaired the field, helped build the town back up. Kept themselves alive, filled the coffers of the Avonrose orphanage where Sehun grew up, and then donated the rest to the temple. 

“Offerings paid to him are repaid tenfold,” Junmyeon explained as he loaded his bags with the gold on his way to the pilgrimage that year. “We will never want for anything. Not in our lives.”  
  


♔

_Why_ , Sehun wonders, must they continue to make the pilgrimage every summer, then?

Junmyeon always waves away Sehun’s questions, and though it’s frustrating, Sehun trusts him with his life. 

After all, it was Junmyeon who had shown up to the orphan house that fateful day. It was Junmyeon, no more than twelve summers old, who set a hefty bag of gold at the counter before pointing to Sehun. It was Junmyeon who smiled at him kindly. 

The Matron eagerly took the gold, wrapping the bag’s drawstring tight around her hand, before she made her way back to where Sehun watched. 

“Come on,” she said, grabbing him by the arm. 

Sehun went with her, though he struggled a little against her grip. When he saw Junmyeon, skin clear and dewy, he fell in love. Just a bit. 

“Would you like to come home with me?” he asked. “We can be friends. I live on a farm. It’s nice there.” 

The orphanage wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either. It was crowded. They were poor. If the boy had gold, then living with him _must_ be better. He might get a bed to himself, he figured, might not have to share it with any other boys. 

Sehun nodded. 

Junmyeon stuck out his hand, and Sehun took it gratefully.  
  


♔

“It was left to me,” Junmyeon said when Sehun first saw the farmland. “My family...they died before I was born. But I thought, well, I hoped that you might be my family.”

Sehun learned quickly, and with Junmyeon’s help, he became quite an adept farmhand within his first year. Junmyeon knew about the crops, about when to plant, about how to avoid the frost and the pests. 

His life was easy, so much easier than before. They spent their days happily working under the sun, lazing in lakes, playing cards and making silly bets between them. 

Junmyeon was his brother: not by blood, but by choice. And that, to Sehun, meant much more anyway. 

When Junmyeon went for his first pilgrimage, still fresh-faced at sixteen summers, Sehun begged him not to go, pulling at his clothes. 

“Paying respect to the gods is important,” Junmyeon said. “They’re dreadful, vengeful things and if you don’t, they’ll make you wish you had.” 

“Don’t say that,” Sehun said. “They’ll hear.” 

“Oh, let them,” Junmyeon spat with a careless wave of his hand. “Let Jongdae strike me where I stand.” 

“Stop!” Sehun said, throwing his hands over Junmyeon’s mouth. “What are you doing?” 

Junmyeon had mumbled through Sehun’s fingers before Sehun withdrew. 

“Having a bit of fun,” Junmyeon smiled before packing up his horse. “Don’t worry. I’ll return safely. Expect me back in time for the harvest.” 

He hoisted himself up easily before turning back to Sehun. 

“Take care of the farm,” Junmyeon said. “And take care of yourself.”  
  


♔

_That was how it went for years_ , Sehun thinks to himself. He had come of age eight summers ago, but Junmyeon always took the pilgrimage himself. And Sehun was fine with that.

Until he wasn’t, of course. 

He doesn’t know exactly what changes inside him, but with twenty-four summers under his cap, he thinks himself due for an adventure. 

He makes camp after a long day’s ride, lets the horse graze as he starts a fire. He unfolds the map under the dying light of the day; if he keeps a steady pace, he should arrive at the Bichwood right at the rise of summer. The festival would be in swing at the capital, a celebration at its apex, and he would get his audience with Baekhyun. He would make it home by the harvest, his favorite time of year. 

Sehun watches as a shadow falls over him, a figure standing at his back. 

He whips around to find a boy, looking at him nervously. 

“Oh, um. Evening, sir,” the boy says. He’s tall, but no older than Sehun, maybe a bit younger. He shivers, underdressed even for the relative warmth of the spring night. 

“Evening,” Sehun answers. “And well met.” 

“And you, well met,” the boy says, as though he’s forgotten manners. “Might I...might I sit?” 

Sehun thinks quickly. Junmyeon would scold him, telling him to think of the trouble that the stranger might bring along with him, but...kindness comes first, he tells himself. Junmyeon be damned. 

“Please,” he says, gesturing to the spot across from him. The boy sits, rubs his arms before sticking his hands out towards the fire. “Are you hungry?” 

“I couldn’t,” the boy says. “You’ve already shown me great kindness.” 

“It was hardly great kindness,” Sehun says, reaching for his bag. “Any man would do the same.” 

“No,” the boy says, smiling. “Any _honest_ man.” 

“Still,” Sehun says, and he offers him an apricot. “It’s no trouble.” 

The boy takes the fruit in his hands like it’s a gemstone, holds it carefully. 

“Thank you,” the boy says, and he clutches it to his chest. “I’m in your debt, and I’ll repay this kindness tenfold.”

“Please,” Sehun says. “You owe nothing.” 

“You’re generous,” the boy says, gesturing a bit with the apricot, smiling. “That’s a very rare gift in this world.” 

“You flatter me.”

“No, sir.” The boy takes a bite, juice running down his chin. “This is wonderful,” he says, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Where did you get it? The only fruit that rivals it is from Lemont.” 

_Lemont_ , Sehun thinks. How has a boy so destitute seen the far-reaches of Mulvilla? Up past the capital city? Sehun isn’t the smartest, but something about him doesn’t make sense. 

“I have a farm,” Sehun says. “My friend and I.” 

“You have a talent,” the boy says happily. “I’ve never tasted anything better, sir.” 

“Ah,” Sehun says, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re kind.” 

“No, I’m just very truthful,” he says, a sly grin on his face. 

They sit in a companionable silence, one that lets Sehun focus on the boy’s appearance for a moment as he eats. He’s tall, a bit taller than Sehun even. His hair is dark, dark like Sehun’s, and he’s got pretty dark eyes, sparkling amber when the light hits them. A full pout. His clothes are shabby and in need of a good darn. Sehun wonders where his mother is. Wonders how he makes it in a world such as their own. 

“What’s your name?” Sehun asks. 

“My name?” the boy asks, a bit coy, like he doesn’t want to tell. “It’s...Youngho. Seo Youngho.” 

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Sehun says, and he sticks his hand out to shake. “Oh Sehun.” 

The boy— _Youngho_ takes Sehun’s hand in his, still tacky with the juice of the fruit, and he shakes it firmly. 

“And you, sir. Good to meet you, sir,” he says. “What are you doing out here, then? Out here, in the middle of nowhere?” 

Sehun looks around. He’s about a day and a half’s ride from the next town over: another small village called Leefside. 

“I’m making my first pilgrimage,” Sehun says. 

“Oh!” Youngho says. “I am as well.” 

He looks down at Youngho’s attire, his lack of preparations. Confused. 

“How far are you going?”

“To the Bichwood, sir,” 

“Stop calling me sir. I’m no different than you.” 

“Okay, sir,” Youngho says, grinning. 

Sehun rolls his eyes. 

“To the Bichwood, you say?” Sehun says. “We have good fortune. That’s where I’m going too.” 

“Thanks to the God of Light,” Youngho laughing. “Maybe we could make the journey together?” 

Sehun eyes him carefully. A seat at a fire, a fresh apricot...these are small niceties that Sehun would spare to anyone. Youngho comes with no horse, no proper clothes, no provisions to speak of. Sehun looks to his waist and sees no coin purse. If Sehun agrees, he knows that he will be signing on to care for this boy, to share more than just the small niceties. 

“Sure,” Sehun says. “What’s one more?” 

“Ah,” Youngho says. “You are generous, sir.” 

Sehun grouses, digs his boots into the dirt at his feet. 

“Not so,” Sehun says. 

“Do you intend to quarrel with me, sir? Just moments after we’ve met?” Youngho asks, smiling. “Maybe you aren’t as kind as I once thought.” 

“So I must agree with you simply because we’re strangers?” Sehun asks. 

“No,” Youngho says. “But you must accept praise when I give it. And…” 

He throws his arm around Sehun quickly. Sehun almost instinctively pulls back, but after a little fidget, he lets himself be embraced. There’s something magnetic about the dark-haired boy wrapping him up. 

“There. We’re no longer strangers.”  
  


♔

He looks through his purse. He should have enough to spare to buy a horse for Youngho and still have enough to make it to the temple and back. If worse comes to worst, he reasons, he could sell his necklace.

“I’ll have to pay you back in some way,” Youngho says with a smile from atop Sehun’s horse. 

They are still a day’s ride, or _walk_ in Sehun’s case, away from Leefside, and passing the time means speaking. Sehun learns a lot about Youngho, and he feels he would have learned about Youngho even if he didn’t want to.

Youngho talks. Immoderately. 

Sehun learns that Youngho has a quick tongue and a sharp mind. Sehun learns that Youngho makes friends wherever he goes. Sehun learns that Youngho is poor. Sehun learns that Youngho needs help. 

Sehun learns that Youngho was an orphan, just like him. Sehun learns that Youngho was stolen from his family as a child, then dumped at the door of the orphanage. Sehun learns that Youngho nicked gold from the pockets of nobles on the streets, took care of the younger kids in the home who never got enough to eat.

It’s a hard world for children, Sehun knows it firsthand, but he admires Youngho’s commitment to optimism. 

“Ah, give me no pity, sir,” Youngho says. “I’ve made good for myself. I found you, haven’t I?” 

“Don’t call me sir,” Sehun says again. 

“Yes, sir.”

Sehun smiles despite himself. He can’t explain it. He feels the distinct urge to take care of Youngho, to make sure he makes it to the Bichwood to receive whatever blessing he’s looking for. There’s something pure about him, something imbued with goodness. Sehun can’t describe it, but it makes him want to trust him. Provide for him. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk?” Youngho asks, smiling prettily and batting his lashes at Sehun. 

“Quite sure,” Sehun says. “I feel as if I’m a host to you.” 

“What’s the farthest you’ve ever traveled from your home, sir?” Youngho asks. 

Sehun looks at his shoes. 

“Leefside.”

“You’ve never been anywhere further? May the Gods have mercy on us,” Youngho laughs. “Seems as if I’m the host.” 

“And how far have you been?” Sehun asks mulishly. “Since you’re so well traveled.” 

“Ah,” Youngho sighs happily, staring off into the distance as if remembering his adventures. “I’ve been all over this beautiful world, sir.” 

Again, he wonders. How has a boy so poorly outfitted made it all over the world? Sehun narrows his eyes. Maybe he should have taken Junmyeon’s advice more seriously.

“So you know the way to the Bichwood capital?” Sehun says. 

“Like the back of my hand,” Youngho says. 

He smiles down at Sehun once more, and Sehun’s stomach goes strangely warm. If he was to be swindled, at least he would be swindled by Youngho. Surely, there were worse things in the world.  
  


♔

Though it isn’t saying much considering, Leefside is the prettiest place Sehun’s ever seen, blessed with verdant life everywhere. At the gates of town, the stone pillars are overrun with ivy, and the vegetation is so thick that Sehun can barely see through to the grey of the rock. The air smells like gardenias, sweet and floral. The air feels damp, like a steady mist, and it keeps the foliage and the skin fresh.

Sehun checks his horse into the stable, petting at her ear before he walks back to meet Youngho again. 

“We’ll get you a horse in the morning,” Sehun says. 

“It’s fine, you know,” Youngho says. “I don’t mind the walk.” 

“We’ll get you the horse.” 

Youngho shoots him a smile, and he bumps his shoulder into Sehun’s. He doesn’t know how he manages to make Sehun feel like they’ve known each other for summers, but their friendship is rapid in its development. Perhaps it's the air, he muses. Good for growth.

The long cobbled walk into the heart of the hamlet is lined with barrels that overflow with plants, pretty yellow, green, and aqua flowers nearly pouring out. 

Youngho picks one, a striped tiger lily, and tucks it behind his ear. 

“Stop that,” Sehun says. 

“Why?” Youngho says, and he picks another, reaching up to tuck it behind one of Sehun’s ear too. “Suits you, sir.” 

Sehun bites back his smile. 

As they walk under the archway, the center of town is bustling with people. 

“We should find an inn. I need to bathe,” Youngho says. “I reek.” 

Sehun says nothing, and that is agreement enough. 

It had been a while since he’d been to Leefside, but some things still stick in his head. He looks around at the makeup of the town, down the winding paths, the fountain at the center. He tries to orient himself before he points. 

“I think there’s an inn just over there,” Sehun says. “On the west.” 

Youngho grabs his hand, and Sehun thinks about shaking him off. 

“Let’s go then,” Youngho says, smiling. 

_The Frond_ is the largest building in the town, stone and towering. Vines wrap around the windows and doors, lay along the threshold as they walk in. As they enter, they walk down a hall before meeting a fork. To the right is the common room. A long bar lined with stools splits that room, a hearth gives off warm red firelight, and there are bottles of all shapes, sizes and colors filed along the wall. A few patrons populate the space, mostly just giving work to the man who tends the bar.

“A drink?” Youngho asks mischievously, peeking his head inside the room and raising his eyebrows. 

“The purse won’t allow it,” Sehun says. 

“Ah. Next time, then.” 

They turn to the right into the smaller room. Cloaks and coats are hung along the wall, and there’s a small desk. A serious looking woman with half moon spectacles sits there with a large book in front of her, bright green hair belying her, Sehun feels. 

He finds himself nervous to approach the desk, but approach he does. She doesn’t even look up from her book. 

“May I help you?” she asks. 

“A double?” Sehun asks. 

“How many nights?” the lady asks, eyes still glued to her book. 

“Just the one.” 

“Ten pieces,” she says, and she sticks her hand out. 

“Ten?” 

Finally, she glances up at him, but it’s to shoot him a withering stare. 

“Ten,” she confirms. 

“Could we…” 

She points to a sign next to her desk: _no haggling, no bartering_ it reads in shimmering yellow letters. 

“Right,” Sehun says. “One moment.” 

Sehun opens his purse, fingers through the pieces. Ten is far too high. He had planned on five pieces per night. Of course, he had completely forgotten to factor Youngho into his plans. 

“Is everything alright?” Youngho asks. 

“I…,” Sehun starts.

“Sir,” the lady says, tapping her fingernails on the desk, “do you plan to rent a room? I have paying customers to tend to.” 

Sehun ignores it. He doesn’t see a paying customer besides himself, and she had barely looked up from her book to begin with. 

“H-how much is a single?” Sehun asks. Her eyes widen, shooting between the two of them. “He’s my brother...and we’re low on money.” 

She furrows her brow. 

“Five pieces,” she says. 

“We’ll take it,” Sehun says, and he drops the pieces of gold into her open palm.  
  


♔

The room is small, and though it seems the landlord isn’t much for decoration, it’s still beautiful. The natural flora of Leefside lives with them, it seems, like the vines run through the framework of the building. The corners of the room all house plants that breathe life into the darkness, the turquoise blooms alluring even to Sehun’s untrained eyes.

There’s only a bed, a small table, and two chairs acting as furniture, but Youngho seems excited all the same. 

“It’s quite pretty here,” he says, happily sitting on the bed. “Oh, and the bed! Very comfortable.” 

Sehun sighs, sets his bags down. He supposes he’ll be sleeping on the floor. It will be a long trip, Sehun thinks, sleeping either on the stone floors of inns and taverns or the unforgiving earth. 

“What are you doing?” Youngho asks. 

“Getting settled,” Sehun says. “Why, what does it look like I’m doing?” 

“You’ll not be sleeping on the floor,” Youngho says, aghast at the suggestion. “You paid for the room. You’re paying for everything. You can’t also be generous _this_ way too.” 

“It’s okay,” Sehun says, waving his hands. “I do well. It’s a small thing, truly.” 

“I won’t allow it,” Youngho gripes. 

“You don’t have a bed back home, do you?” Sehun asks. 

Youngho plays with his fingers, and that’s enough for Sehun. 

“Then you’ll take the bed,” Sehun says. 

“But…” 

“But what?” 

“It’s...well, it’s big enough to share,” Youngho says, gesturing to the frame. “If you wanted to sleep here with me.” 

Sehun weighs his options, but truthfully, there isn’t much to weigh. He and Youngho are fast friends. Where’s the harm, he wonders. 

“Alright,” Sehun agrees. “If you’re sure.” 

Youngho smiles brightly, shining like the sun.  
  


♔

They walk to the baths together, Youngho blathering about how the hot, moist air is good for the complexion.

“You don’t seem to have a problem, though,” Youngho says, inspecting Sehun’s face carefully. “No, your skin is clear as day.” 

“The sun is good for it,” Sehun says. “Sun and seawater.” 

“You’ve just been blessed,” Youngho says. “You wouldn’t understand what us _common folk_ have to go through to look handsome.” 

The comment, something that probably fell thoughtlessly from Youngho’s mouth, sticks in Sehun’s head as they head into the bathing room. There’s nothing common looking about Youngho’s features. He must be popular with women, Sehun thinks. 

The room is dominated by the two large raised stone pools, the water bubbling and tinted a pretty light purple. Sehun stands on his tiptoes to get a better look: there’s an intricate design at the bottom of each bath. Tiled into the stone, in glimmering green and blue, is a water droplet, sharp lines of yellow running through it. 

“Oh, it’s enchanted,” Youngho says happily, before dipping his hands into the water. “Mm, it’s warm. Come and feel.” 

Sehun stands next to Youngho and dips his hand in. Youngho did not lie; the water is pleasantly hot and the scent of lavender wafts from it in waves. 

“Come, come,” Youngho says, skipping over and behind the screens. 

Sehun watches as the shadow of his figure unties his top and strips it off his body. His hands work at the tie on his pants. It’s slow, meandering like he could take all day doing it, and for some reason, Sehun can’t look anywhere besides.

“Are you joining me?” Youngho calls. 

Sehun immediately turns away from the screens. 

“I am.”

“Then come. Undress. Or are you prudish?”

“I’m _not_ ,” Sehun argues, and he starts pulling off his clothes out in the open of the room, throwing them to the side. 

He’s rid himself of his robe, his vest, and his chemise, his chest bared, when Youngho emerges from behind the screen, naked as the day he was born and with no shame dressing him either. 

Youngho looks him up and down. 

“Do you intend to bathe in your pants?” Youngho laughs. 

“No,” Sehun says, and he starts to unfasten the ties. 

He watches as Youngho dips into the lilac-colored water, breathing out a sigh. For some reason, Sehun tenses at the sound. 

“You say you plan to join me,” Youngho says, eyes closed as he leans his head back against the stone wall of the pool, “but I think you may simply want to watch me instead.” 

Sehun’s stomach clenches uncomfortably at the suggestion. 

“I’m not used to bathing in front of another,” Sehun says. 

“You may want to _get_ used to it, sir,” Youngho smiles. “There is a long journey ahead of us, and if you keep me around, I feel it necessary that we be comfortable around each other. ” 

He’s right, of course. Sehun doesn’t know what about it has him bothered, but it sticks in his stomach like the tip of a blade. 

Pushing the thought down until he can no longer feel it, he walks over to the far pool, the one opposite Youngho, and steps in gingerly. 

“I don’t bite, sir,” Youngho says. “We could share.” 

“No need,” Sehun says starchly. “I’m quite comfortable here.” 

“Then who will wash your hair, sir?” Youngho sings. 

“I’m capable of it. Now be quiet.” 

“As you command, sir.” And he dunks his head under the water. 

It gives Sehun one moment to think about how strange Youngho is before he emerges from the water once more, hair wet and dripping into his eyes. 

He scrubs his face with his hand as he stretches, body strung like a bow, and a pang of pain shoots through Sehun’s stomach like Jongdae’s bolt.  
  


♔

“Clothes constrict me. I hope that’s okay,” Youngho smiles.

Sehun stares down at him. He wears his linen braies and nothing else. His body is tanned. Swelled with muscle, muscles that are usually hidden under clothes. 

“Youngho,” Sehun says. 

“Yes, sir?” 

Sehun huffs out his breath. 

“Never you mind.” 

Youngho smiles again, bright white like light, and then lays in bed, covers pooling at his slim waist. 

“Snuff the candles,” Youngho says, “and come to bed. It’s a long ride to Greensilver. We must be well-rested.” 

Sehun supposes Youngho speaks truly. He blows at the flame of the candles until the room is drenched in darkness before slowly walking to the bed, careful not to stub his toe on the frame. 

He peels back the covers to get into the bed, trying not to disturb Youngho at all. He relaxes, turns his back to Youngho entirely. And despite the fact that he hears Youngho turn onto his side, hears his breathing even into light snores, Sehun stays awake for a while, even after all the candle smoke has dissipated.  
  


♔

He stirs the next morning with his arms wrapped around warmth.

When Sehun opens his eyes, it clicks together in his mind slow like sand falling in a glass. He is on his pilgrimage. He is in Leefside. The man in his embrace, breathing shallowly with sleep still in the air, is Seo Youngho, his traveling partner. 

And Sehun is plastered against his back, hard between his legs. 

There is little between their bodies, especially with Youngho’s thin linen pants. 

Sehun panics. 

He extricates himself as slowly as possible, even though every fiber of him wants to throw back the covers and run from the room. He eventually, slowly, slowly, moves and is able to rise from the bed, only to press down on his cock to relieve some of the pressure. 

He walks across the room uncomfortably with a tent in his pants, only to hear the bed creak with movement. 

Sehun hurriedly tucks his cock up to hide it and looks over his shoulder to see Youngho turning. 

“Early riser?” Youngho yawns. 

Sehun nearly chokes on his tongue. 

“I am,” Sehun says. “You rise with the sun when you live where I do.” 

“Ah,” Youngho says, and he lays back against the bed, legs spread wide. Chest bare. He runs a hand over his stomach and lower to scratch at himself. Sehun despises himself for watching. “Suppose that makes sense.” 

Sehun turns back around. 

“Yes. Suppose it does.”  
  


♔

Sehun likes Youngho. Likes him more than he should. And it grows with every minute, taking root in him like the strongest of the water weeds.

They dress and pack their bags, slinging them onto their backs, before strolling to the nearest tavern. They sit at a small table, one with just two stools, and they eat poached eggs, charred and marinated red peppers, roasted and salted fish, and mugs of the weakest wine Sehun’s ever had. He isn’t used to drinking wine at all, though: he and Junmyeon mostly drink teas made from the flowers and herbs, so he’s thankful for the watered-down red. 

He watches Youngho eat from across the table, sneaking glances when he can. He wonders if Youngho knows about him. Wonders if it would bother him if he did know. Wonders if he knows what happened in the night: Sehun wrapped around him, clinging to him as if he was clinging to life. 

Youngho mops up the yolk of the egg with his biscuit, staring back at Sehun as he chucks it into his mouth. 

“Sir?” Youngho says around his mouthful. 

“Yes?” 

Youngho swallows, and Sehun follows the movement with his eyes. 

“You stare,” Youngho says. “Quite a bit, sir.” 

Sehun looks away. 

“My apologies,” Sehun says, the cold settling in his veins. Ice like Minseok’s ire. 

“No.” And Youngho grabs Sehun’s hand from across the table, their hands linked over the wood. Sehun looks back. Youngho wears the same pearly white smile Sehun’s come to know. “It’s okay, sir. I don’t mind it.” 

Sehun can’t help the flush that rises through him.  
  


♔

“She’s perfect,” Youngho says, awed like he’s never seen a horse before. He turns to Sehun. “She must be mine.”

He strokes at the filly’s nose, and the horse leans into the touch. 

“Fifty pieces,” the owner says. 

She is bright white like the sun, mane in wild waves and braids, gold ribbons strung through them. She is as beautiful as any horse Sehun has ever seen. She would be worth each and every piece. 

“That’s too much,” Youngho says primly. “Forty, or we walk.” 

“Apologies,” the owner says. “Can’t go much lower than fifty. She’s my greatest treasure.” 

And Youngho turns his back, folding his arms like a child. 

Sehun rolls his eyes. 

“He’s a bit rough around the edges,” Sehun says to the man as a sort of apology. “We’ll take her.” 

The man smiles, and Sehun returns it, along with the fifty pieces he fishes out of his purse. He will have to sell his necklace at this rate. But Sehun doesn’t mind. Things of the earth aren’t all that precious to him. Being kind is more important. 

“I told you we walk,” Youngho says, grabbing Sehun’s arm after the payment is done.

“I told you,” Sehun says, “we’ll take her.” 

Youngho frowns, and even there, he is extraordinarily handsome. Sehun’s stomach clenches at the thought. 

“Don’t you want to figure out a name for her?” He knows that it will tempt Youngho out of his fit, so he’s deliberate as he smiles at him. 

“Oh, her name is Aeri.” 

“You’ve thought this through, then?”

“Naturally,” Youngho says, and he studies the beds of his fingernails before shooting Sehun another look. “But you must be more judicious if we intend to make it to the Bichwood alive. And still with gold in your purse.” 

“Ah,” Sehun says. “I’m judicious enough.” 

Youngho pets at the filly’s nose, and Sehun watches how gently he moves. 

“You have a soft heart, sir,” Youngho says. 

Sehun has heard it all through his life, but for the first time, he feels it a compliment.  
  


♔

The journey to Greensilver will take five days, if the map is to be believed. Sehun studies it carefully at the gates of Leefside, about to start their journey onwards.

“Oh, I just love these little towns,” Youngho says wistfully. “It would be so nice to stay for a while.” 

“We have to keep moving,” Sehun says, “if we’re to make it on time.” 

“Quite punctual, aren’t you?” Youngho says, bumping his shoulder against Sehun’s. “It’s a good thing, too. I’m the opposite myself.” 

Sehun knows it already. Youngho is the type of man who lingers, who wants to stick around and experience it all. Sehun admires that. 

“We make a good pair,” Sehun says, and as soon as he says it, he wishes he could take it back. He’s too free with his words sometimes, he’s too free with his _affections_ sometimes, he… 

“We do.” 

Sehun hides his smile as he ducks his head, spurring his horse into movement with a tap of his heels.  
  


♔

“And so when his back was turned,” Youngho says, with a dramatic flick of his wrist, “I _snatched_ it right up and took off.”

“Don’t they cut off the hands of thieves in that kingdom? Weren’t you worried?” Sehun asks. “To be caught?” 

“Me? Never,” Youngho says confidently. “I’m too quick.” 

Sehun rolls his eyes, and Youngho laughs heartily, throwing his head back. He glows by the pretty orange firelight. 

It was a long day of riding, and it’s nice to lie back and enjoy his company. Sehun watched as Youngho led the way, back straight as he looked poised in the saddle. He wondered, idly, where Youngho had learned to ride. He looked as if he was born there. 

“How far did he chase you?” Sehun asks. 

“Three stadions or so,” Youngho snorts. “I didn’t ever dream I was stealing from a marathon runner.” 

“And you still managed to outrun him?” Sehun says. 

“Of course,” Youngho says, and he snaps his teeth through a strawberry, chucking the white bit and the leaves into the fire. “Sure, I’m quick, but I’m clever too.” 

“And humble, on top of it all.”

Youngho laughs loud, and it fills Sehun with joy. He likes to make Youngho laugh. Maybe a little too much, he wagers. 

“So,” Sehun says. 

“So,” Youngho answers. 

“What did you do with it?” Sehun asks. “When you finally managed to get away.” 

“Oh, the ring?” Youngho says, eating another strawberry and flicking the refuse into the flame. “Gave it to some kid.” 

Sehun tries to train his expression, but he knows he’s failed when he sees Youngho flash a smile at him. He can plainly imagine the sight of a child’s eyes going wide. A ring studded with a giant ruby would be enough to feed anyone for a year and more. 

“Don’t look so shocked, sir,” Youngho smirks. “I’m generous when I can afford to be.” 

Sehun tries to temper another smile, but the amber light of the fire leaves nowhere to hide.  
  


♔

Sehun doesn’t touch the map.

He doesn’t need to, he realizes. 

Youngho takes the lead, and Sehun lets him, content to watch as he sits atop the white mare like he was born to ride free. 

“There,” Youngho points, smiling, “if you turn there, we’d be on our way to Autumneda.” 

“Have you been there?” Sehun asks. 

“Mm,” Youngho hums, pleased. “They have the most beautiful harvest feasts. Giant waterfalls of wine. Cornucopias filled to the brim with the fall crops. You should see the way the girls and boys dance with the flowers in their hair. The music. The food. Oh, _the food_. The candied pears. My word. They’re to die for, sir. You simply _must_ have one at some point.” 

The further they get from Avonrose, the more Sehun realizes what he’s been missing out on his whole life. 

“I think I’d like to see it,” Sehun says. 

“I’ll take you next harvest,” Youngho says boldly. “We’ll get drunk off the waterlily wine, and we can watch the show together.” 

“The show?” 

“It’s divine.” He looks off, wistful for a moment. “The palace rests amidst the water, of course, and at midnight, every night of the feast month, everyone gathers to watch the water dance.” 

“Mm,” Sehun says, trying to imagine it. What does water look like when it dances? Does it fall to the earth slowly, like a rainstorm caught in time? Does the color change, going from blue to purple to red? Does it leap? Does it curve? He would like to see it. He’d like to see it very much, especially if it meant watching next to Youngho, their hands clasped together, Youngho’s head resting on his shoulder. He shakes his head, trying to drive the thought away. “It sounds very nice.” 

“You will see it, sir, I swear I will take you to see it,” Youngho says so earnestly that it makes Sehun go a bit red. “And then you’ll be able to regale your friend with all of our tales.” 

Sehun imagines that too: Junmyeon around the hearth, listening as Sehun would tell him about the water. His eyes lighting up like the crackling fire. 

Sehun stares down at his hands, wrapped around the reins. Hides his smile the way is becoming a habit.  
  


♔

The ride takes five suns, and it gives them time. Time to learn of the other.

“There is not much to know,” Sehun says, poking at the fire with a stick before resting back. 

Youngho has a way about him, a way that Sehun has never seen before in his summers. He moves, speaks with such ease. It’s almost as if he was the only person in the world. It’s intoxicating just being around him. The confidence pours off of him like heat from the campfire, and Sehun wishes he wasn’t so easy, so natural to lean into it. 

“Surely you are mistaken, sir,” Youngho says. “A boy as handsome as you must have stories.” 

Sehun picks at his fingernails, the dirt under them beginning to bother him. 

“I haven’t done much,” Sehun says. “My life is quiet, compared to yours.” 

“You’ve never had an affair?” Youngho asks, chin in his hands. “Or brawled with someone outside a tavern? Or stolen something? Or, I don’t know, have you ever even raised your voice to anyone?” 

Sehun stares at his feet, shrinks himself down small. 

“I’m afraid not,” Sehun says quietly. 

It puts into sharp, crystal clarity that he has wasted his life away, doing nothing of great merit. Not even enough for a story around the fire. 

Youngho moves closer beside him, the weight of his leg against Sehun’s comforting in a strange way. 

“Forgive me, sir. I did not mean to upset you,” Youngho says. “I simply...sir, I must confess, in all my days under the sun, I have never met someone with a pure heart. But now, now I’ve met you, I believe that I have.” 

Sehun wishes he could stop the heat from rising to his face, but he’s hoping, at the very least, it is masked by the firelight. 

“I give you my thanks,” Sehun says, “but I fear I have nothing to add to our conversations.” 

“Then,” Youngho says, and he takes Sehun’s hand in his, laces their fingers together, “maybe we should make memories together, so that on your next pilgrimage, you will have plenty of stories to tell.” 

Sehun looks at their hands, clasped together. 

“Yes. I think that is quite smart.” 

“We shall call the matter settled,” Youngho says, and when Sehun looks to his face, he is bathing in the blood orange light, looking impossibly good. Too good to be real.  
  


♔

He nudges his horse with his heels, just a touch.

“If you want to keep pace, sir, you’ll have to move quicker than that,” Youngho taunts. 

“She’s old,” Sehun says, petting his filly’s neck as they trot along. 

“Old or no, Greensilver is still four suns away, and didn’t you mean to reach it within the sennight?” Youngho asks. 

“True enough,” Sehun says, and he gently tries to goad her into a canter which she stoically denies. 

“She is of the same cloth as me, sir,” Youngho laughs. “Lazy.” 

But Sehun thinks of Youngho as a horse galloping free, going where he likes when he likes, without a care in the world and no possessions to hinder him. Sehun thinks he might find himself overwhelmed, not knowing where he’d get his next meal, but there is something beautiful about the freedom. The chance.  
  


♔

It is warm enough, pleasant enough, to rest under the stars, and each night, they set their blankets next to each other. They stare into the heavens before sleep takes them. The world dances with twinkling white stars amidst the inky black forever, and it makes Sehun feel small. Small enough that he’d like to know about the ends of this world from someone who knows better than him.

“What’s the worst place you’ve ever been?” Sehun whispers. 

“Hm,” Youngho hums back softly. “I suppose it depends on your tastes.” 

Sehun perches his head on his hand, elbow resting against the earth. 

“How so?” 

“Do you mind the heat?” Youngho asks. 

“The summer is warm in Mulvilla,” Sehun shrugs. 

Youngho scoffs. 

“What’s that to mean, hm?” Sehun asks, reaching out a balled fist to strike Youngho gently. 

“You’ve never seen the summer,” Youngho laughs. “You’ve only seen a warm spring. The lands of Eversummer…” 

“Hwajae,” Sehun says, for he’s studied the maps. “The Fire Hills.” 

“So you know of it,” Youngho says quietly, sitting up on his elbow, leaning forward with a dangerous smile. “But have you been there? Have you traveled through the desert between Last Breath and Reidnach?” 

“You know I haven’t,” Sehun smiles back. 

“So few have been there, all the scholars rely on hearsay for their scrolls. Do you know why they call them the hills?” 

“T-The earth?” Sehun says softly, suddenly unsure of himself. “It is raised in mounds.” 

“On occasion,” Youngho tuts. “On blessed days, the earth is flat, deathly flat. But then, on the cursed days, the fires rise in hills, shooting up in a horrible liquid blaze within a sun and then falling back beneath the ground. The stretch before you make it to the fort at Reidnach, they call it Cannibal’s Ash, because if you manage to make it through, you’ve swallowed those who came before you. The flesh and bones...all turned to dust in the hottest fire you could ever imagine.” 

“Gods,” Sehun whispers. “And you’ve—” 

“I’ve been there,” Youngho says solemnly. “A terrible place. And have you heard of Esdare?”

“Yes,” Sehun says, moving closer to Youngho as if pulled. “The castle.” 

“More beautiful than any palace,” Youngho says. “It looks as if it was built from iridescent glass. The colors...sir, it changes every hour as the sun passes in the sky.” 

“Ah,” Sehun moans. “I would love to see it.” 

“But to see it, you must first cross the White Waste,” Youngho says as if he’s tempting Sehun into it. “They say that great beasts sleep beneath the ground, breathing the ice that keeps it all so frozen, and that if the ice ever melted, the beasts would rise from their slumber and put the earth cold once and for all.” 

“How cold is it?” Sehun asks, and he resists the urge to huddle close. 

“So cold that men freeze under the full sun. So cold that you can’t even start a fire to warm yourself. So cold that your fingers and toes stick together, so cold that it is nothing but a frigid desert.” 

“But the water—” 

“The water is all ice,” Youngho says. “And it will never melt. In their final moments of life, fools try to lick the earth to quench their thirst.” 

“But you made it through,” Sehun says, watching Youngho with even more admiration than he’s ever felt before. “Y-you somehow made it through.” 

“I was well prepared,” Youngho says before breaking into a pretty smile. “And I made plenty of friends along the way. Such as yourself.” 

_Such as myself_ , Sehun thinks happily. Will he someday be a piece of Youngho’s stories? One of the ones who helped him through his trials? Or maybe something more?

“What was the best place you’ve ever been?” Sehun asks. 

“Ah,” Youngho smiles. “A story for another day.” 

“Tell me everything, please,” Sehun says. “All of the places you’ve been.” 

“It may take a while, sir,” Youngho says. 

“It might, but I don’t mind.”  
  


♔

A day, and another day. They make good time, Sehun notes as he checks the map for the first time in a while: it is their fourth evening on the road, and they rapidly approach Greensilver, the glimmering beacon near the center of Mulvilla. The trip goes surprisingly smoothly, and maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise: while it’s further than Sehun’s ever been before, Youngho seems gifted in all ways.

Even when they stop for rests, Sehun feels the time pass by quickly, almost like steam rising from water. Going from something to nothing. Even something menial, like watching Youngho expertly set the tent after the evening turns particularly cold, he manages to spin a tale that keeps Sehun drifting, mist in the air. 

The way Youngho tells it, the world is nothing but beauty that Sehun’s missed. 

“Oh! And I met a man in Sunswell that was so good at the harp that he could play a man to sleep,” Youngho says as he parts back the curtains of the tent, climbing inside. “I traveled with him for a time, and we saw the Light Lakes together.” 

“Mm,” Sehun hums, and he imagines being there with them. 

The gentle plucking of the harp, the slip into blood-warm waters. It’s said that the water of the Light Lakes near Sunswell makes the skin sparkle, heals it fresh and new, all scars forgotten. Sehun’s heard it fizzles along the skin pleasantly, like bubbles rising from the depths, and the pink-gold leaves of the Meijinse trees that only grow in the Bichwood rest on the water like flower petals. Maybe he would sit against the sandy shore, watch Youngho dip into the white, glittering waters, emerge set against the beauty of the setting sun, berries crushed and streaked along the horizon line.

“Are you dreaming of it, sir?” Youngho asks, and when Sehun shakes himself of reverie, Youngho is resting back in the tent, hands behind his head. “You’ve never felt anything better than the water. And you never will.” 

“Mm,” Sehun hums again, “I would like to go there.” 

It’s become his refrain. For the orchards of Lemont, heavy with fruit sweeter than any in the world. For the lush wood of Hartcaster, for the trees that breathe with magic and tell riddles and give blessings. For the waving hills of Thunder’s Shadow, the shiver of heat that runs through a man when he watches the lightning twist and curl along the ground, high on the Seat of the Strike. _I would like to see it_ , Sehun always says. _I’d very much like to visit._

“I would like to take you,” Youngho says, a pleasant little refrain to match Sehun’s own. “Do you know what the men wear in Sunswell?” 

“No,” Sehun says honestly. 

Youngho gets up, hands and knees, crawling to the opening of the tent where Sehun stands. It’s—it’s too much to look at for a moment, so Sehun picks at one of his nails, pushes the dirt out. 

“They wear silk,” Youngho says, and he raises himself onto his knees, a charming smile aimed up at Sehun. “Silk so fine you can see through it. They wear it draped over their lower halves, body decorated in fine jewelry that hooks around them. Dripping with rubies and sapphires and diamonds. Rich beyond compare.” 

Sehun swallows thickly, thinking— _no._

“People who live in the Bichwood don’t know how lucky they are,” Sehun sighs. “The God of Light blesses them.” 

Youngho hides a smile as he turns, and Sehun watches him fall back into his covers, and Sehun finds he loves that most of all: when he manages to make Youngho smile. 

“Too true, sir,” Youngho says. “Too true. Now come to bed, we’ve much to do come morning.”  
  


♔

Happening across the river is either good fortune or good navigation skills from Youngho, and either way, Sehun decides he doesn’t care. The water is warmed under the bright sun, and it seeps into his skin. He sighs, lets it work the knots of tension through his body.

“Mm,” Youngho says, sinking into the water. “Finally.” 

“Yes, _finally_. You were beginning to smell,” Sehun smiles. 

“Your hair was as greasy as that old stove at the tavern in Leefside,” Youngho sneers. 

It’s another bit of Youngho that Sehun likes: he’s quick to anger, even quicker to settle. He’s petty and sometimes cruel, but he has a good heart, Sehun believes. Time living in the depths would put anyone sour, but he still possesses true goodness. 

“You have quite the tongue on you,” Sehun says. 

“Oh, don’t I know it, sir,” Youngho says mischievously, and he licks his top lip slowly, mischievous, and Sehun turns away, stares at the trees lining the bank of the river. 

He is a tease, and Sehun knows it well—at every turn, he has a clever word, a lewd remark. And Sehun should be used to it by now. But he isn’t. Every little bit of it sinks into his skin as oil might, slick against him. He doesn’t know what to do with the feeling, has no prior experience with such a feeling. So he buries it as best he can, deep under the surface. 

Youngho has a talent for unearthing, Sehun finds. 

They bathe in quiet for a time, and Sehun keeps his eyes forward, thinking about the worst things he can imagine. Cold mornings and cold feet with no cinnamon tea or socks to warm him through. In the dead of night when sleep won’t come. Thirsts you can’t quench. Ravenous hunger that makes you shake with need. 

He turns, faces away from Youngho, vaguely horrified, and he tries to will himself soft. He could try to blame it on the water, on the feeling of scrubbing his scalp clean, but—but even he knows that it is a lie. 

“Have you ever kissed someone?” 

Sehun whips around sharply, stares back over his shoulder, and he’s greeted by Youngho’s wry, closed-mouthed smile. Sehun nearly swallows his tongue, tries desperately not to stare at Youngho’s body, the wet muscle that line his torso. 

“What?” Sehun asks. 

“Have you ever kissed someone, sir?” Youngho asks. “Surely, with a face so handsome…” 

“Yes,” Sehun breathes. “Yes, I have.” 

It wells in him, the memory of his first love. 

“Tell me of it,” Youngho says coyly. “Aren’t we to know of each other? Isn’t that what being traveling partners is all about?”

“I suppose,” Sehun says. 

Strong hands cap his shoulders, and he tenses. “How old were you when you had your first kiss?” And Youngho starts to wash Sehun’s back, only adding to the torment, massaging the muscles as he goes. 

“Twelve summers,” Sehun says. 

“And was she beautiful?” Youngho asks. “Was her hair black as night? Eyes green as the meadows?” 

Sehun looks back over his shoulder, and Youngho is so close to him that Sehun thinks they might be sharing the same breath, pushing and pulling air from each other. Something about it, some movement of the world around him— 

“It was a boy,” Sehun confesses, and tears sit in his eyes. “It was...” 

There are no rules against it, not in any kingdom, not anymore. But he’s worldly enough to know the stories of old, men and women who were put to sword, hung from oaks, all because of their predilections. Will Youngho feel the same? Will...will he look at Sehun differently? Will he look with disdain, with disgust? 

Sehun doesn’t know if he could bear it, to see Youngho’s pretty face twisted up in displeasure. It would kill him, he’s sure of it. 

The silence stretches on, and Youngho—the movement at his mouth catches Sehun’s eye. He licks his lips, and Sehun watches it. There is a tense and burning heat in Sehun, the shame and the arousal mixing into one, as burgundy and soft as the sweet wine. 

“And his hair?” Youngho asks. “Was it soft beneath your fingertips?” 

“Yes,” Sehun says, and he’s never even told Junmyeon this close-kept secret, never shared about the boy he would sneak out to see. The boy, light eyes and soft light hair to match...he disappeared after that year in the sun. And Sehun kept to himself for the rest of his summers. “It was...it was the only time I’ve ever been kissed.” He looks down, sees his pitiful reflection in the waters. He shuts his eyes against it. Doesn’t think he could look at himself another minute. 

But two fingertips raise him by the chin, and then, he is staring into Youngho’s eyes, moving through the mahogany, amber infinities.

Winds move through the trees, and the leaves fall to the surface of the water, painting the river green. Youngho looks around, smiles as the winds pick up, and his hair blows prettily. Sehun’s never—never felt this way before. Not even with his first love. 

He flicks his gaze back to Sehun, hair in his face. Mussed and sweet. 

“Pure of heart,” Youngho says with another smile. “And of mind.” 

Sehun doesn’t say what he wishes to say, something of restraint and shelter and what happens when love is permitted to burst forth from a heart so pure.  
  


♔

They’ve still a day’s ride to Greensilver, and Sehun feels freer than he’s ever felt before. Because whereas before, Youngho would take charge of most all their conversations, it seems as though his confession has brought about his voice.

“Desire is a funny thing,” he says. “It’s not so immalleable, not as much as people think anyway.” 

“So, your desires change, sir?” Youngho asks, bouncing in the saddle as they pass the flat lands, green turning greener still. 

“Well, we’re quite fickle, aren’t we?” Sehun says. “Isn’t everyone? Thoughts change, feelings change...I’m not sure that there’s anything truly eternal.” Youngho laughs. “What?” 

“You think deeply,” Youngho says, “deeply of superficial problems.” 

“What’s superficial?” Sehun scowls. “Desire is driven deep in the heart of a man.” 

“No,” Youngho says with a little smile. “No, I think you’ve never been more wrong, sir.” 

“How so?” 

Youngho looks at him, and Sehun looks back, the gentle movement of Youngho’s body erotic. He looks forward again. 

“Men are always too honest,” Youngho laughs. “Even when they tell falsehoods, you can read the truth on them.” 

Sehun feels the red heat rise to his face at the suggestion. Does he speak truly? Can he see the desires of Sehun’s heart as if they were written on his skin? If he can, then why is he still riding next to Sehun? Why hasn’t he left Sehun in his wake?

“I think I’ve more experience with desire than any man in this world,” Youngho says, yet it sounds only statement of fact, not braggartly. Sehun wonders to himself, thinks about what it must mean. Surely he must—“When a man wants, truly wants, there is nothing to keep him from it. It might as well be carved into the Throne of the World.” That’s another of his habits, breaking through Sehun’s thoughts almost as though he can read them. 

“What is it that you want, then?” Sehun asks, but it isn’t long before the shyness gets him, a hand on his throat. “I-I mean—if…” 

But Youngho does not wear offense the way another man might. In fact, it occurs to Sehun in that moment that the last sennight has been a long string of Youngho acting as strangely as he has acted happily. It does not make much sense to Sehun. Nothing about Youngho makes much sense: such a wonderful creature, dropped from the heavens into Sehun’s lap. 

Youngho wears the same kittenish look he normally does, as if bidding Sehun out of himself, play with him in the way he wants. 

“Would you like to know, sir?” 

Sehun swallows thickly, whispers out his _yes_. 

“I think I’d like to find someone to spend some time with,” Youngho says. “Strong arms and a warm heart.” 

Sehun’s stomach jumps at the words, and his hands tighten on the reins—if he doesn’t, he figures he might do something foolish, maybe reach out to take Youngho’s hand in his.  
  


♔

The sunsets are so pretty across Mulvilla, pastel like cherry blossoms and yellow candlelight. There is a calmness at the close of day, and it fills Sehun.

“The light’s lost,” Youngho says. “It’d be best to arrive in the morning.” 

The work to set up camp is quick now, and they’ve separated out duties easily. They’ve figured out that Youngho is best with the fires, so Sehun yields to him in order to pitch the tent. They cook scant meals from Sehun’s packing, sticky rice seasoned and mixed with fire-roasted carrots and peppers. 

Youngho often sighs over his eating, and Sehun smirks over his canteen. Even for a boy of his status, he has the tastes of a little lord. He turned his nose up at the mushrooms, so Sehun ate them on his own. 

“You can do the cooking, if you’d prefer,” Sehun offers. 

“No, no,” Youngho frowns. “I’m not being picky, but I do wish we might spare a piece for some indulgence every now and again. Maybe when we get to Greensilver...”

Youngho might as well be named _indulgence_. Sehun’s never seen someone with finer taste. He smiles, thinking of it. He likes that about Youngho, and moreover, he likes indulging him. 

“If the purse allows…” 

“ _If the purse allows_ ,” Youngho mocks, sticking out his tongue unhappily, like a child. “Next time you aren’t looking, I’ll nick us some butter and jam. Some _chocolate_. Something _sweet_.” 

“You’ll do no such thing,” Sehun says, and he wags his finger. “You’re too eager to thieve.” 

“And you’re too against it, sir,” Youngho pouts. “With your _pure heart_.” 

Sehun smiles brightly, and Youngho looks so pretty by the fires, like he was meant to live in dancing light and her shadows. 

“You seem to like my pure heart,” Sehun challenges. 

Youngho tilts his head, stares at Sehun for a moment, and then a moment more. Sehun feels studied the way he hasn’t felt before: Youngho...he plays. He is a foolish boy, one who is thoughtless, flighted like a bird in the sky. He is not one for the deepness of this gaze, the sort that bores through Sehun, the sort that stares into his soul. 

“It is natural,” Youngho says softly, “for a man to protect a pure heart.” 

_Protect_ , Sehun thinks. _Is that what you mean to do to me?_

“Why is that, do you suppose?” Sehun asks. 

Youngho scrapes up what’s left of his dinner. “Why are you on your pilgrimage?” 

A deflection, and a complicated one at that. Sehun ponders for a minute, finishes his own dinner in the meantime. He sets his bowl down, and when he does, Youngho grabs his hand. 

“I don’t know,” Sehun says honestly. 

“Think,” Youngho says. “In your heart of hearts. After all this time, why did you leave your home?” 

“I—” 

“Think.” 

“I wanted an adventure,” Sehun says.

Youngho smiles, small, not spread across his face like usual. 

“The only thing that we all share, from beggars to kings,” Youngho says, “is the profound and insatiable desire to reach the heights of our personhood. And when a person finds someone as kind, as compassionate, as _sweet_ as you are...it is their duty to shield it with their hands. They protect it from the cold. They hold it up in this world, high above as example. Protect it from the harms of such a place.” 

Sehun’s eyes water, and he stares down at their hands linked together. _Has anything ever been so sweet?_ , he wonders. 

“You’re much too kind,” Sehun says quietly. 

“No,” Youngho says. “I’m not very kind at all. But you are. And that’s why I like you, sir.”

They sit in silence for a while, comfortable now, and Sehun feels as though he’s found his first true friend besides Junmyeon. And it is the most beautiful feeling he’s ever felt, ever even _wanted_ to feel. The fire dances opposite them, and Sehun thinks again how pretty he is drenched in the warm light, born to it or maybe born from it. 

“Are you pleased to be reaching another town?” Sehun asks softly so as to not disrupt the happy quiet. 

“It is a great joy,” Youngho says, and he leans his head against Sehun’s shoulder. “Blessings are upon us.” 

“Yes,” Sehun says, and he leans his head against Youngho’s. “Yes, they are.”  
  


♔

His mouth is dry, and he licks at his lips, the pressure and warmth at his back delicious. He moves back, edges closer to the source, some instinct acting without his knowledge, and he tugs the arm around his waist tighter with a noise of satisfaction rumbling through his chest before he opens his eyes and realizes what he’s just done. Youngho’s voice croaks with sleep when he speaks.

“And blessed morning to you too.” 

Sehun throws the blankets back in a hurry, shoulders heaving with labored, ugly breath. And before he knows what’s happening, the tent falls down around them, the fabric laid against the dirt as he stares back at Youngho, eyes blown wide. He hadn’t done something so violent, hadn’t caused such a stir. 

“W-What in the world…” 

But Youngho just stares up at him, a look that Sehun can’t quite decipher. Sehun hurriedly rolls the tent and the ropes and stakes together, cleaning up camp without another word. If Youngho doesn’t wish to speak on the matter, then neither will Sehun, and they’ll lose the whole thing to time.  
  


♔

No one knows how the city of Greensilver got the stones of emerald or how they managed to make them shine so brightly, but the castle of the liege lord shines high upon the hill like a lighthouse calling a ship to harbor. Sehun exhales, feeling calm for the first time that morning. At the very least, he thinks, they are where they expected to be in the amount of time they set. He thinks of Junmyeon’s face, the gentle smile. He smiles in reverie.

The walks are dark green cobbled stone, and they find the inn quite easily. 

The woman working the desk is friendly, a shock of yellow hair and a bright crooked smile, and she doesn’t bat an eye when Sehun asks for a single. He takes the gold pieces from his purse, pushes them across the wooden desk, and she hands him the old pewter key to their room. 

“We’ll get settled,” Youngho says, helping to haul the bags up the winding staircase, “and then we’ll do some exploring.” 

Sehun likes the sound of that, and he looks around at the inn in wonder. It is old, that is to be sure, but it has been kept with immaculate care. The stone walls do not shine as brightly as those of the castle, but it doesn’t matter much: large, intricate tapestries of the war hang along the wall, celebrating the victories and memorializing the defeats. 

There is one bathed in fire, the licks of the flames curling and waving in the fabric. Even babes would recognize the kingdom called Yeol, even they would remember the story of the ancestral seat of Jongin, the way the capital fell in fires so hot they were shaking and white. 

“Have you ever gone to see the Angels?” Youngho asks, shaking his head as they creak their way up the stairs and past the tapestries. “No, of course you haven’t.” 

“Is it very sad?” Sehun asks, thinking of the way the bodies burned, the ashes rising in pale columns like angels ascending to the King’s Table.

“It’s very sad,” Youngho says. “Best not to think of it too long.” 

But Sehun has never been very good at listening, so as they walk to the room, the clicking turn of the key, he thinks. Thinks. Thinks. 

Youngho is busy unpacking their bags when Sehun asks “do you believe the stories? Of Jongin’s escape?” 

He turns, eyes dark. 

“I don’t quite know. It seems a great tragedy to let all that power go to waste. Sir, which story do you favor?” Youngho asks. 

“I hope he lived,” Sehun says. “Even...even though he couldn’t save them all. I’m sure he must have tried. I think—I think, if he’s living now, he must carry much guilt within him.” 

“Do you think he should?” 

Sehun watches Youngho’s hands while he piles out the clothes that need washing onto the floor, and they tense as they move, clenching. 

“No,” Sehun says. “No, he was kind. All the stories speak of his kindness.” 

“And if he wasn’t kind?” Youngho asks. “If he was vengeful and cruel?” 

“Still,” Sehun says, “the gods never asked for power. They had power thrust upon them. What must it feel like, to be responsible for the livelihoods of others? To care for them? To bear witness to their pain and suffering?” 

Youngho turns to the window, and Sehun follows his gaze. The city is dense with morning, and the sun follows them as they go, shining upon the castle prettily. Youngho opens the window, pushes the shutters out, and a sweet breeze fills the room, makes the light curtains move. 

Youngho faces Sehun once more, scrubs his hand through his hair as he smiles. 

“I think we’re in need of a proper bath, sir,” he says, and he crosses the room, takes Sehun’s hand in his as they walk through the halls of the inn. “I hear the baths here all smell of mint tea. That will be nice, don’t you think?” 

Sehun lets himself be moved, eager to follow.  
  


♔

Freshly washed and clothes freshly laundered, hung behind the inn to dry, they take to the streets, and by noon, the city of Greensilver is alive.

He is a farm boy, nothing more, and so, seeing all of the things that the cities of his own kingdom have to offer leaves him light-headed and giddy. 

They look through clothes shops, specialty food stores, and Youngho lets his fingers graze over everything, the wools and the silks and the jutes and cottons, jars of pickled roots, jams and jellies. Sehun remembers Youngho’s words, slaps his hands away whenever he makes to steal something. Youngho always shoots Sehun a wink over his shoulder before he wanders off to find something else to delight the senses. 

And in some secret part of him, Sehun wishes that he could give Youngho more. It’s foolish, he is the most foolhardy simpleton Mulvilla or _any kingdom_ in fact has ever seen, but—Sehun grapples with his attraction to Youngho, with the fact that sometimes, it feels as though Youngho might be attracted to him in turn. 

But Youngho is clever, head filled with dreams, armed with the wit and will to make his dreams come true, and Sehun knows that. There remains a distinct possibility that it’s all a ruse, a construction meant to lure Sehun into giving, giving, and giving until he’s bled dry. 

Sehun knows it’s probable, but he can’t seem to curb the desire, the need to give Youngho all the world has and more. 

It’s regretful, of course, that in order to make the pilgrimage, he has to scrimp, cut back on delicacies and rarities and indulgences. Youngho’s eyes light up when he sees the sweet pepper candies, and Sehun feels his resolve waning. 

A copper piece or two won’t break them. At least, he hopes not.  
  


♔

They spend the day looking through the various shops, trying to absorb as much of Greensilver as they can before they have to leave by morning. There are men along the streets who boast of the strength of their healing elixirs, and Sehun passes them right by even though Youngho often stops to run his fingers along the glass bottles, seemingly entranced by the glittering colors.

There is a music shop with lutes, and Youngho picks one up, despite Sehun’s squawking to put it down. 

“If you break it, they’ll make us pay for it,” he whines. 

But much to Sehun’s surprise, Youngho knows what to do, knows how to play. He strums it with the tips of his fingers, and the other patrons in the store turn to him as a flower turns to the sun when he starts to sing. His voice is a gift from above, soft but sure and never trembling. Sehun feels himself drawn like a moth to light, and he moves closer to Youngho as the little folk song progresses and Youngho’s voice soars over everything else. 

When Youngho sets the lute down back where it belongs, the women swarm to him. He sends them off with handshakes and thanks for their effusive praise. The display leaves Sehun gawping, and that’s when Youngho turns to him with a wry smile, only asking “What?” 

“Y-You sing quite well,” Sehun stutters. “And you…” 

“Oh, that,” Youngho says, gesturing to the row of lutes beside him. “Once I learned as a child, noble women seemed to empty their purses for me. It only made sense.” He notches the statement with a flirtatious smile, a wink, and Sehun’s stomach fills with heat. 

“Yes,” Sehun says, trying to...trying not to go giddy over the feeling. “Good sense.” 

Simply unable to stop thinking of the way Youngho sang, Sehun is in a daze through their dinner, a local treat of grilled beef and onion skewers and mugs of red honeyed wine. It’s sweet, and Sehun drinks more than he should, considering the discoveries of the day. 

But it’s fun, drinking with Youngho. He has stories, and the stories are magnified this way, held to the glass, larger than life. He narrowly escaped a hoard of fire lizards in his visit to Varrencarres, the lost capital city of Yeol, where Jongin made his last stand against the God of Fire. 

“They’re as big as pythons,” Youngho boasts. “And quick as rabbits, I’ll tell you. They stink like sulfur.” He makes a noise of displeasure, shivering as he sets his cup down. “I couldn’t wash the smell off me for weeks.” 

Sehun smiles broadly, thinking of the silly way Youngho must have ran, the way the sand must have kicked up around him as he outran the quick-as-rabbits fire lizards. Did he scream in terror? Did his eyes go wide? Did he wave his arms like a fool? 

“Quit laughing,” Youngho says, and he reaches out to slap Sehun on the hand. Sehun can’t curtail the desire, his body arching into the touch, the table between them doing almost nothing to stop him. 

“I’m not laughing,” Sehun laughs, and he moves a bit closer, scoots his stool around on the stone floor. It makes a horrible squeaking sound, and that only makes Sehun laugh harder, nearly collapsing to the table. 

“Look at you,” Youngho says, poking at Sehun’s arm. “You’re about ready to fall from your seat, aren’t you?” 

“It feels as if...as if the world is moving,” Sehun says. 

“Ah, it is,” Youngho says sagely. “Moving all around you, sir.” 

“Don’t say that,” Sehun says, and his head lolls back for a moment, before he sits up straight, spine like a thin line pointing towards heaven. “Why aren’t you as drunk as I?” 

They’ve had their cups filled the same amount of times, Sehun is almost sure of it, and yet, Youngho sits as though he’s sitting in his saddle, entirely too comfortable to watch Sehun make a complete and total fool of himself. 

“I have a good tolerance for wine,” Youngho says. “Seems as though you, however, do not.” 

“No,” Sehun says, and he wipes the red away from his lips. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.” 

“We’ll get you there,” Youngho says, and he grabs the bottle of wine, much too expensive. Sehun is too drunk to care. They can afford this small luxury, he figures. Youngho tips the bottle over, filling Sehun’s cup once more. “Drink, sir. If someone pours it for you, it’s bad luck to ignore it.” 

Sehun reaches forward, licking his lips. And his fingers brush against Youngho’s as he takes the cup, brings it to his mouth, swallowing as much as he can in one go. The sun sets, and the light in the tavern goes purple and red, much too pretty, bathing Youngho in the colors of love. 

“There is hope for you yet,” Youngho smiles. “I’ll show you as many terrible, beautiful things as I can manage.”  
  


♔

His arm is hooked around Youngho’s shoulder, and the warmth of Youngho’s body is even more intoxicating than the wine was.

It occurs to Sehun how sheltered his life was as they stumble through the back of the tavern together, bodies against each other amidst the night crowd. The room they walk into is dim, like light is a rarity, and smoke from the tobacco pipes rises, circles around the flames of candles. There is a thrum of music, drums and guitars and horns, and it pulses in Sehun like blood, like fiery hot blood, and he goes where Youngho leads him. 

There is a table that they sit at, and Sehun struggles to keep his eyes open as dice are rolled, a four, and it hits him all at once what’s happening: Youngho has his purse. And he’s gambling with their lives. 

All the gold pieces he has to his name are poured onto the table top, and he feels the panic rising in his throat as if he means to be sick. They’re going to lose. 

His hand jumps forward quickly, grabbing Youngho by the sleeve of his shirt. “What are you doing?” Sehun whines. “That money is for—”

“Quiet now,” Youngho tells him. “Watch.” 

The serious man sitting opposite them rolls the same dice, and the numbers come back. Two single dots. 

Youngho cheers, and he claps Sehun on the shoulder. “See, sir? Didn’t I say?” 

Sehun is too shocked to say anything as the serious man pushes forward their winnings, more breathing room for their pilgrimage. But Youngho pushes it all back, grinning madly. 

“Double or nothing,” he says. 

Sehun tightens his hold on Youngho’s sleeve, bites his lip between his teeth. “We shouldn’t.” He tugs again. “We should go back to the room. We’re to leave at daybreak.” 

But Youngho ignores him, plays again, and the number this time is tripled. A perfect twelve. The gold rises around them, a small fortune to play with.  
  


♔

When Sehun wakes come morning, the sun evil as it pitches its voice higher and higher through their window, he smacks his lips together. His mouth is so dry, and oh, his head. It aches.

Youngho rolls over in the bed, Sehun can feel the movement, and then a cool hand is on his forehead. He moans thankfully, squeezes his eyes shut tighter. 

“Your first after-effects,” Youngho says cheerfully, and it makes Sehun flick his eyes open to watch him smile. “I’ll share this secret with you, sir. You never get used to the feeling, so you better get good at drinking.” The smile on his face brightens, and Sehun—he’s entranced by how beautiful this person is even at the break of day. 

“I think I’d like to jump out the window,” Sehun says. 

“We’re not very high up,” Youngho jokes. “You might only break your legs.” 

“I suppose I’ll stay put then.”

“A wise choice, sir.” 

Sehun smiles as he drifts back into sleep, thinks about the money he’ll have to spare for an ache medicine, and—the memories come back to him as if they were a wall of water. His eyes pop back open, and he jabs a finger into Youngho’s shoulder, frustratingly well-muscled. 

“You stole my money.” 

Youngho, at least, has the decency to look sheepish. “I was hoping you would forget that part of the story.” He takes Sehun’s hand in his. “Do forgive me, sir.” 

Sehun tries not to think about the way Youngho’s hand feels so right holding his. And he tries not to let the hope well in his chest. Could it have possibly been real? When he fell to sleep, he remembers a pile of at least a thousand pieces or more. 

“Did you—did you truly win?” he asks, little more than a whisper between them. 

Youngho’s eyes are bewitching, and Sehun knows that this man could have robbed him blind at any turn. But he rises from the bed, goes to the wall where Sehun’s purse hangs. Full. Too full. He takes it off the wall, tosses it to Sehun. 

“The rest is in your bag, sir,” Youngho says. “More than you’ll know what to do with on this pilgrimage.” 

Anyone else, Sehun realizes, if it were anyone else, he would have been left destitute and alone, forced to turn back to Avonrose, forced to abandon his mission to visit and pledge and pray to his god. But it’s Youngho who stands across from him. It’s Youngho who stole Sehun’s purse just to fill it with more gold than Sehun knows how to spend. It’s Youngho who holds Sehun’s hand, who tells him tales of his journey, who usually pretends not to notice when they wake hard against each other. It’s Youngho who still calls him sir. Who smiles like the sun over water. 

“How did you do this?” Sehun asks, tears in his eyes. 

Youngho shrugs. “I’m good at dice.” 

The entire point of dice is that no one can be _good_ at them, but as Sehun’s fingers playing through the new-found riches he thinks, truly, if anyone could be good at luck, it would be Youngho.  
  


♔

They lose time in Greensilver.

Breakfast at the tavern solves his after-effects nicely, the salt and the sugar and the fats of eggs, oats, and butter over bread filling his stomach and wiping his head of any ache, any worry. They venture to the clothier, the raw fabrics spun on huge rods, all the colors you could name under the sun. Youngho purchases new clothes, and Sehun gets some too, the silks and cottons are soft under his fingers. 

They replenish their stored foods, and Youngho does as he said he’d do: picks up jams and chocolates and various indulgences that now, the purse will allow. 

Youngho spends money the way the rich do: like the waters of their riches, their gold, their wealth will never run dry. Sehun quite likes the way he moves, pointing at things as though he knows exactly what he wants. It reminds Sehun of all the noble women, noses high in the air. But Youngho is much prettier, looks...looks much sweeter as he goes. 

By high noon, they return to the inn, bathing again before they’re to move. Youngho pops open a bottle as they strip in front of each other, upending it into Sehun’s bath. The room is filled with a gold smoke, the smell of honeysuckles, and Sehun breathes in deeply, lets his chest fill with the scent. 

“Did you buy one for yourself?” Sehun asks, slipping into the happily warm waters, the waters that swirl and make it seem as if he’s bathing in liquid gold, molten hot. 

“You’re the handsomer of us two,” Youngho says, and he slips into his own bath, the water simple, smelling of eucalyptus and tinted green. “I’ll pamper you, sir, since you’d never pamper yourself.” 

Sehun finds it hard to leave the bath when the time comes, and his fingers and toes prune for staying in the water for too long, but he simply can’t help himself—if Youngho wants to spoil him, then Sehun would like to be spoiled.  
  


♔

Turning their backs on Greensilver is near impossible.

Youngho is always loathe to leave a new place, but Sehun is usually the voice of reason. Now, however, Sehun dawdles, strapping up the horses slowly, dragging his feet. 

“If I didn’t know better, sir, I’d think you wanted us to stay,” Youngho chimes. 

“Not so,” Sehun says quietly, hands working slow as he fixes the bridle. 

“Ah, but you must know that you can’t lie to me, sir,” Youngho says, and he pokes Sehun in the side. “I know you too well now.” 

They ride from Greensilver, just a short two day trip to the orchard-town of Appleby, and Sehun wonders how he managed to fall in love with someone so fast, how he discovered what it means to be in love and then fell directly into it within the blink of an eye.  
  


♔

The comfort that they find within each other now feels almost unreal, the fast friendship. It reminds Sehun of the way he and Junmyeon learned each other within the sennight, became brothers under seven setting suns. This...this is different, of course.

“You ride better when you don’t have a stick up your ass,” Youngho comments, and Sehun feels his face heat. 

“Quiet,” Sehun commands. 

“But you look so happy, sir,” Youngho says. “Who knew that all it would take was a bit of gold?” 

_Bit of gold_ is truly an understatement, but Sehun supposes Youngho is right: without the threat of an empty purse, he finds himself relaxed, enjoying the journey even more than before. Youngho talks even more now, and Sehun talks back, the push and pull something that he’s coming to cherish. 

“Have I ever told you of the day I met one of the Stone Lords?” Youngho asks. 

“One pledged to Kyungsoo?” 

“The very same,” Youngho says proudly. “He quite liked me. I think I charmed the pants off him.” 

“Did you really?” 

Youngho throws his head back and laughs, petting along Aeri’s mane as they move. “I wish. That would have made for a better story, wouldn’t it have?” He turns, looks at Sehun, a heated gaze. Sehun looks away for the minute, trains his gaze on the horizon line. “I was on my way up Mount Jigu.” 

“You climbed the Mount?” Sehun asks in wonder. 

“Of course,” he says, puffing out his chest proudly. “There’s not much in this world I haven’t done.” 

Where Sehun might have felt jealousy, a desperate, pathetic need to match the same adventuring spirit, now…now Sehun feels as though he travels the same roads Youngho has when he speaks. 

“Where did you meet him?” 

“I was quite close to the Throne,” he says. “Close enough to see the words shimmering golden in the face of the mountain. The glow was day and night, it was—it was beautiful, sir.” Sehun watches as he seems to access the memory, eyes up against the sky. “There are a number of camps set along the trail. And I stopped, convinced some of the people to let me sit for the night at the fire. They don’t tell you how cold it gets at the setting of the sun, sir.” 

Sehun lets himself imagine, the frigidity in his bones. Too cold to shake. “They leave the bodies of those who’ve died, don’t they?” 

Youngho nods his head, sad in remembrance. “The closer you get to the Throne, the more bodies you’ll see. The ones nearest the bottom, they usually get taken home. Given proper rites. A proper burial. But the ones near the top—the bodies cold decay. Too dangerous to rescue. It is...it isn’t right, sir.” 

“No,” Sehun says, solemn. “It isn’t.” 

“I found a boy,” Youngho says. “No more than ten summers. Someone must have taken him to help carry their provisions. And then, they left him to die.” 

Sehun’s gut turns terribly, thinking of it. The great horrors of the Mount. Sehun doesn’t know if he’d be strong enough to make pilgrimage to the Throne of the World. 

“What did you do?” Sehun asks. 

“I carried him,” Youngho says. “I was bringing him to the top. To give him blessings from his god. And one of the Stone Lords saw me. Teared up when he saw the little lad, the way his mouth was blue. Had me brought to the top in a flash. It was like a bridge of rock that rose from the side of the mountain, and—” 

Sehun’s throat tightens. “He was there?” 

“He was there,” Youngho says. “And so I met Kyungsoo.” 

“ _Youngho_ ,” Sehun gasps. “So few—”

“He doesn’t show his face much, that’s true,” Youngho says. “It’s a shame. He’s so pretty.” Sehun barks out a surprised laugh. “He is, sir! Fine black hair and dark soulful eyes. And he is much kinder than I thought he might be.” 

“Did you think he’d be cold?” 

“Wouldn’t you? With such a pilgrimage?” 

“I suppose.” 

“But he took the boy home to the King’s Table himself, lifted the stone at the top of the mountain and laid him to rest underneath,” Youngho says, voice and face soft. “And he gave me a blessing for my troubles.” 

Sehun thinks of it, thinks maybe the blessing of the great Stone Lord has carried Youngho all the way through his life. Brought Youngho all the way to Sehun. But— 

“What were you doing, making a pilgrimage meant for the ones loyal to Kyungsoo?” 

“Ah,” Youngho says, smiling at Sehun, scrunching up his nose. “Just curious.” 

Curiosity has never made Sehun do something so dangerous, but maybe it’s just the latest of a long series of ways they’re different, suited for each other but so, so different. 

The roads to Appleby are soft, and where they stop for the night is covered with a downy grass that sees Youngho strip off his new boots just so he can run his feet through it. 

Sehun prepares food for them, sandwiches of cured meat, cheese, and whole-seed mustard. They drink, eat silently. They are mostly quiet, except for the moment that Sehun thinks he will hold close to his chest for the rest of his days on the earth. 

“You know, sir,” Youngho says, mouth full, “I think of all my adventures, this one with you will end up being my most favorite.” 

Sehun is thankful for the firelight, the reds and oranges, hiding the blush on his face as he finishes his meal.  
  


♔

Appleby’s streets are lined with peach and pear trees, and Youngho picks one as they walk through the center of town, completely ignoring the baskets tied to each trunk to collect the payment.

“We’ve more than enough money now,” Sehun says, scolding him. “Pay for it.” 

“Oh, you’re so _pure_ ,” Youngho scowls, and he reaches into Sehun’s pocket to fish out a couple pieces of gold. He deposits them into the basket before turning back with a simpering smile. “Happy, are we?” 

“Very,” Sehun smiles. 

They fill themselves with the local fair, grilled fruit that caramelizes and sweetens with the depth of smoke, whole chickens, stuffed with lemons, rubbed with herbs and oil and then roasted on the rotating spit. He buys Youngho a purse of his own, a fine little leather one that holds his allowance nicely. 

The wines are different in Appleby, the sort you can only get in such a special town of Mulvilla. 

“Blueberry wine,” Youngho says happily, mouth purple as he drinks. “Sir, you’re _treating_ me.” 

Sehun takes a sip of his own glass of the wine, and he’s delighted by the sweetness, not syrupy or cloying, just the right hint of acid to balance it all. He sighs happily, kicks an ankle over the other. They watch the sun come down over the town, and Sehun wonders if the journey will be so simple, so unhurried and kind. 

“Lost in thought?” 

Sehun turns to Youngho, sees him spying over the rim of his glass. 

“Thinking of the journey,” Sehun says, lips loose with alcohol. “About the things that await.” 

“Only good things,” Youngho says knowingly. “I prayed for it, sir.” 

_As did I_ , Sehun thinks. _As did I._  
  


♔

Life on the pilgrimage is much of the same, over and over. Sehun wanted more than his provincial life, of course, but he had no idea it would become so second-nature to him, almost as if the instructions were scrawled across him.

They make camp, they graze the horses, they cook, they talk around the fire. They retire to the tent. They wake up in the space of the other, only to ignore it entirely when the sun rises. Sehun doesn’t mind terribly. In fact, he really enjoys the feeling of someone’s flesh against his own. And he becomes accustomed to it. Yearns for it, deeply within him. 

He thinks about his conversation with Youngho, the way he said he could read desire on a man. Sehun hopes he was only exaggerating, because he’s sure he must even breathe want by now. He attempts to put it from his mind, hopes to ignore it with anything else, but the journey is grueling in that it leaves you little to think about besides. That’s why Sehun is so grateful whenever Youngho speaks of something, anything. 

“Ah,” he points. “Look north. Jongdae is screaming again.” 

Sehun does as he’s bid, turns his head, and far in the distance, he can see the strikes of lightning along the flat fields, starting fires in the dry grasses. There aren’t any trees any longer, all burned to ash after being split in two. 

They are three days past Appleby, three quarters of the way to Terreholm, and directly north of them stands the Seat of the Strike, the lake surrounded by Jongdae’s impenetrable castle and the unimaginable wealth within. So many have tried to steal from him, but their bodies line the glass top of the water so frequently that they have to burn them in the fields. 

“Doesn’t he ever shut up?” Youngho scoffs. 

“ _Quiet_ ,” Sehun orders. “Would you like him to strike you down where you stand?” 

“Ah, let him,” Youngho says with a wave of the hand. “People are only scared of him because he’s loud.” 

“I’m sure the power to control the lightning and the thunder that comes along with it has nothing to do with it,” Sehun says with a roll of his eyes. 

“Exactly,” Youngho says with a smile. 

Sehun looks away, afraid of the way a simple smile can be his complete undoing.  
  


♔

It only occurs to him on their checking in at the inn at Terreholm, their homes and shops all made from the strong red clay sifted from the river, molded around wooden fixtures, that they’ve no need for a single bed anymore. They have more than enough gold to spare for an extra bed, and—and there’s no reason to share.

Youngho nudges his elbow into Sehun’s side as they walk, completely unaware of the turmoil inside Sehun. He doesn’t _want_ to ask for another bed, but mustn’t he? Shouldn’t he keep the illusion that he only sees Youngho as a friend, a traveling companion and nothing more?

“Double,” he makes himself say once they reach the window, and the man behind the counter grabs the key for their room without delay. 

Youngho says nothing as they go to the room, setting their bags to the dusty red floor. They don’t speak much at all, in fact, as they find supper at the tavern, a cold tomato soup that feels refreshing in the growing heat. 

It’s a very strange feeling, the silence. 

The kind of silence that Sehun’s come to cherish between them, even look forward to, is always solace in the midst of storm. Welcome like sleep after a hard day. But this feels...feels wrong. Feels uncomfortable. Why won’t Youngho say something? Say anything? It frustrates him, but he does nothing to break the silence, instead stewing in it as the day ends, twisted around them, buried in the silt. 

The stars are out above them as they walk back to the inn for the evening, and when they get to their room, Sehun turns sharply. 

Youngho jolts backwards. “Sir?” 

“Y-You haven’t spoken to me all day,” Sehun says, voice shaking. 

“You haven’t spoken to me either,” Youngho says with a shrug. “I thought you might need a break.” 

_No_ , Sehun thinks. _I don’t need a break from you. That is quite the opposite of what I need._

“No,” he says instead. “No, I’m—”

“Are you cross with me, sir?” Youngho asks. “Have I done something to upset you? I’ll only know if you spoke truly about it with me.” 

Sehun doesn’t know what it is, what angers him so, a combination of the deep desire, the denial, but the frustration boils up inside him like fire, or maybe water, light or lightning. He’s not sure. It’s so much, too much to hold within him, and he, he can’t—

The door to their room flies open, the handle slamming into the wall with such force that the clay crumbles and falls to the floor. 

“Oh, gods.” He hurries over, spies out into the hall—but there is no one there. The manager will probably charge them double for the damage. He frowns. 

“Sir.” 

Youngho’s voice splits through the room, and Sehun turns to see him, purse in hand. 

“Yes?” Sehun asks.

“Let’s talk. Over a drink, perhaps?”

Sehun looks to the floor, nods slowly. He’s been such a child.  
  


♔

Fruit wine flows, red and yellow, purple and blue, and Sehun finds honesty in the palm of his hand, on the inside of his robe’s sleeve.

“Come now,” Youngho smiles, and on anyone else, it would look sordid, _tawdry_. On Youngho, it simply looks enticing. “Tell me all your secrets, lark.” 

“ _Lark_?” Sehun laughs. “Am I a bird?” 

“Would you prefer me continue to call you sir...sir?” Youngho grins, all his teeth showing, and Sehun throws his head back as he laughs. 

“No, no, _please_ ,” Sehun giggles, lifting the pear wine to his lips and taking another wonderful sip. “I’ll be your lark.” 

“Will you?” Youngho asks, kicking Sehun under the table lightly. “My little larkling?” 

Sehun’s face goes red, he can _feel_ it go red, and he covers his face with his hand. 

“Ah, it seems you like it,” Youngho says. “Very well, lark.” 

Sehun flops to the table top, hiding his face as best he can, pillowing the fabric of his sleeves around him. “I’m sorry,” he says, muffling his voice a bit, “about earlier.” He turns his face just a touch, looks into Youngho’s pretty eyes. “I don’t know what got into me.” 

“It’s okay,” Youngho says, and he reaches forward to pet through Sehun’s hair, fingers...fingers quite clever. “We’ll share a bed tonight, larkling, don’t spend another worry on it.” 

“Alright,” Sehun says, and he closes his eyes, happy that he’s found someone who can fill in the gaps for him.  
  


♔

Another splitting headache, another dry, foul mouth, but Youngho always tells the truth—Sehun has his arms full of the man, skin soft and smooth. Absently, maybe still a bit drunk, he strokes along Youngho’s skin, pushes his fingertips into the flesh of his chest before he comes to his senses and pulls back, twists over in bed, letting Youngho pretend to wake first, putting it all behind them the way they usually do.

After they’ve woken and washed, Youngho ties the knot at the back of his riding robe tight, and Sehun lets his eyes rake over him, the line of his shoulders. The broad of his back. The tiny flare at his hips. What would it feel like? To touch him with intent? To hold him? 

Sehun wants to hear the sounds he would make. Wants to feel Youngho against him. Within him. Around him. 

Youngho looks back at Sehun over his shoulder. “Will you be okay for the ride?” he smiles coyly. “It’s nearly a sennight to Bloomfair, larkling.” 

Sehun rolls his eyes, throws Youngho’s bag at him. 

“Come,” he beckons as he walks past. “Wouldn’t want to lose time, would we?”  
  


♔

In their third sennight together, Sehun cannot stop his thinking, the type of thinking he normally reserves for midnight.

It’s a terrible thing, of course, to be so focused on it. He can barely listen to the stories Youngho tells without his mind drifting off without him, leaving him behind. He dreams of their bodies in silk sheets, in oil, in water. He thinks of Youngho’s mouth under his own. He fantasizes about the way they would move, the things Youngho would be sure to teach him. 

He wouldn’t worry, with Youngho, about his lack of worldliness, because Youngho likes to show him those wonderful things. Or at least that’s what he tells Sehun. And Sehun thinks he would like to learn. Be submissive in his studies of pleasure and passion. All he’s ever wanted before him, ready for the taking, but not before he learned how best to take it. 

Youngho often rides in front of him, the gentle sway of movement enough to make Sehun wonder about him. What would Youngho prefer? Better yet, what would _he himself_ prefer? 

Youngho looks back over his shoulder, brushing his sweat-curling hair out of his face, a handsome smile on his face. It’s almost too much, coupled with the way he moves forward in his saddle into the trot of the horse. 

Sehun is so wrapped up in him, held so firmly in his hand, that he completely misses what Youngho says. 

“Silly little lark,” Youngho laughs. “ _I said_ , would you like to stop for a bit of lunch?” 

And so they do, teeth snapping through the crisp skin of Appleby apples, and as the juice runs down Youngho’s chin and then down his throat, sweet, sticky, Sehun thinks that he wouldn’t have much preference were he doing it with Youngho.  
  


♔

His torture is witnessed under the cover of black and stars, every single fucking night, but it is most delicious.

Whether Youngho is at his back, wrapped tight and tighter still around Sehun’s body, the warmth of him radiating out like heat from a fire, or whether Youngho is in his arms, his limbs and muscles soft in sleep, the cushion of him the most pleasant thing Sehun’s ever felt, they always manage to find each other in the darkness. 

Sehun is too cowardly and selfish to put a stop to it, desperate for even the smallest of affections from Youngho. But still, he knows it isn’t sustainable forever—for one, there isn’t enough space between them, the line between them barely visible to the naked eye. 

He thinks about sneaking off while they bathe in the river, spilling into the water as he moans Youngho’s name, thinks of Youngho’s hands on him, dreams of them together, but he can never manage to put together an excuse that would work on someone as smart as Youngho. He doesn’t think he could lie well enough, not even to relieve himself. 

When they stop in a grassy knoll, the lights of the world closing around them and the horses lying against the earth as they rest, Youngho puts his hands on Sehun’s shoulders. Sehun freezes so violently that he nearly topples over. 

“Little _lark_ ,” Youngho teases, digging his fingertips into the taut muscle at Sehun’s back, “what has you so tense?” 

“It’s nothing,” Sehun says through gritted teeth, his whole body as rigid as death itself. “I believe I just need rest.” 

“Are you sure?” Youngho asks, and he continues to play with the muscles of Sehun’s shoulders his back, the backs of his arms. “I’ve been told I’m quite good with my hands.” And it is the truth he’s been told, because Sehun nearly melts as they stand in the middle of their makeshift camp. 

He bites his lip so hard that he thinks he may draw blood as Youngho touches him, and it’s purely sinful, the arousal that drips through him, into his stomach as Youngho manipulates him, pets him, keeps him for his own. 

“I—I should start making our supper,” Sehun says, panic in his lungs as his body starts to respond to the way Youngho is touching him. 

Youngho’s lips come to Sehun’s ear, and though he wants to hold it back, he shivers. 

“Would you like me to make the fire?” 

“Yes,” Sehun says, and he’s...he tells himself he’s relieved when Youngho lets go of him, kneels on the ground next to the kindling as he begins to work.  
  


♔

Mornings suit Youngho well, the sun sitting along his hair and shining everything glittering red. Sehun knows he shouldn’t indulge himself, but as art was made to be observed, Youngho surely was made the same.

Three suns down, three to go, and Sehun feels himself coming apart at the seams. He isn’t sure how much longer he’ll be able to measure his affections, keep himself from spilling secrets. Not with Youngho playing with him, responding so well. It’s enough to...enough to make Sehun dream.

“I keep catching you staring,” Youngho says. “Am I particularly handsome this day, larkling?” 

Sehun scrubs the back of his neck with his hand, looks down so that Youngho can’t spy the blush at his cheek. 

“Focus on the road, please,” Sehun says, and he prods his horse on with the tips of his boots, much to her dismay. 

He trots up a little farther past Youngho, delighted to take the lead for once. He looks back, chin hooked over his shoulder as the dust whips up around them in the winds, and Youngho watches him with something hungry in his eye. 

Sehun is too scared to challenge it head-on, too green, so he turns back around, sits up a bit straighter in the saddle as he imagines Youngho’s eyes falling down his back, skimming along his spine.  
  


♔

_He feels himself unraveling, soft going softer, malleable in Youngho’s perfect hands. Pleasure the likes of which Sehun has never felt in all his days._

_“Is this the way you like it best?” Youngho asks, and he slips his finger deeper into Sehun, stroking in a circle at a spot that makes Sehun arch his back and keen the way a kitten might. “Do you like it on your back, lark?”_

_He barely has the voice to tell Youngho just how much he likes it, how wanton he feels spread across the sheets, warm butter slipping across bread. The oil is slick inside him, smells vaguely floral, and Sehun hitches his legs up closer to his chest as Youngho spears him with another finger._

_“_ Gods _,” Sehun moans. “Oh, gods, please.”_

_“Say my name,” Youngho says. “Call me, not your gods. When I’m deep inside you, making you_ come _, you will say my name.”_

Sehun wakes with a jolt, sits up straight, and orients himself. He feels distinctly wrong. And, gods, he’s so foolish. 

On the fifth morning of the third sennight, the day before they’re too arrive in Bloomfair, Sehun finds a terrible surprise upon his waking. 

“What’s the rush?” Youngho wonders as Sehun leaps from the tent, throws back the curtains to the tent. 

“Have to piss,” Sehun mumbles as he shoves his feet into his boots and rushes to the heavily wooded stream. 

It hasn’t happened to him since he was on his journey to manhood, and the humiliation flames within him as he pulls the tie at his underclothes, sticks his hand down and pulls it back wet. Quickly, without delay, he washes it away as best he can. He wouldn’t want Youngho to have questions for him when he returns. 

Sehun’s afraid he wouldn’t like the truthful answers.  
  


♔

Bloomfair reminds Sehun of Leefside, overwhelmed by flora, and Sehun may not be well-traveled, but he is well-versed in the towns of Mulvilla.

Surrounding the town of Bloomfair is a large grove of bamboo, so dense, you can’t see the town within. But the grove is tamed by men and women, Youngho and Sehun see them as they ride in, and the people harvest the shoots into large wheelbarrows. 

Once inside, It’s unsurprising to see the way flowers dominate life here. In much of the world, the climates are too harsh to support such frail life, but in Bloomfair, the flowers are wild and untamed, natural and beautiful. White and purple hydrangeas creep up and down the shops and wrap around the walls. Bushes of roses, rhododendrons, and lilac all blossom prettily, and masses of butterflies rise whenever they walk by. 

Sehun holds out his hand in front of him, and gently, a butterfly of black, orange, and yellow lands on the back of his hand, wings fluttering slowly. 

“You belong here,” Youngho says. “It suits you well, sir. Even the butterflies wish to keep you.” 

Sehun would like to build a life in such a place, tranquil and still, a quiet beauty that is as unassuming as it is undeniable. Perhaps, it would be even better to build a life with someone like Youngho, someone to instruct him. Someone to provide for. Someone to love. 

Yet, in all their days together, Sehun has never known Youngho to hold back from asking for whatever it is he desired. If Youngho wanted to be with him, lay with him and hold him and call him his, then—then he would have said so, wouldn’t he have? If Youngho wanted Sehun, he would have taken him the way he takes everything else. Nicked it like it was always meant to belong to him. 

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Youngho says. 

Sehun tries to train his expression, coach life back into his face. “No,” he says, still shaking himself from the thought. “No, I’m quite well.”

“Larkling,” Youngho says, smiling like he knows all the secrets of the world, “you know I know you better than all that.” 

How easy is Sehun to know that a man with him only three sennights is able to know him wholly, know the inside of his skin and the hollows of his cheeks? He looks down, studying the sprinkling of wildflowers under his feet as they walk. 

“You think much too much,” Youngho says, and he takes Sehun’s hand in his. “You must learn to put yourself beyond those thoughts.” 

_If only it was as simple as you make it out to be_ , Sehun thinks, and they continue to make their way to the large public house, in search of a room for the night.  
  


♔

He’s convinced that it isn’t simply his imagination: the linens in Bloomfair feel softer than those of any he’s felt along the journey so far.

“It _is_ your imagination, sir,” Youngho says with a smirk, throwing himself back onto the large bed with a bounce. 

“No, it isn’t,” Sehun argues. “Feel the sheets. Please.”

Youngho’s hands tangle with the sheets beneath him, and he arches his back lewdly. Sehun tries not to let it distract him, but gods, he’s only a man, and it’s been so long since he’s gotten the chance to spend and _remember_ it. 

“Ah,” Youngho says. “You’re right. We’ve stumbled upon the great secret of Bloomfair: their soft, soft sheets.” 

He wears a silly grin, but he is right. 

They find one thing, above all else, to be true: the thing that draws crowds to Bloomfair, beyond the magnificent, magical gardens that surround the town, are the fabrics they’ve learned to craft from fibers of the bamboo plants. 

Youngho leads him to the shop where the lines are long, but they wait their turn, Youngho tapping his foot against the hardwood floor, before the man with fat round cheeks and half-moon glasses slumping down his nose smiles at them. 

“Gentlemen,” he says happily, “well met.” 

“And you, well met,” Youngho says. 

“How might I be of service to you today?” he asks. 

Youngho turns to Sehun. “My traveling companion and I are in need of new riding pants. Ours are dreadfully old, and—” 

“Ah, say no more,” the man says, pulling the soft measure tape from around his neck with a flick of his wrist, making it whip through the air. “From the bamboo, I presume?” 

“Yes, sir,” Youngho says. “Make them handsome for him, will you?” 

“Only the best from Bloomfair,” he says with a grin. “I’ll take you both into the back, if you haven’t a problem with it.” 

They follow his lead, and Sehun stands on the wooden platform surrounded by a large triptych mirror.

“If you will,” the man says, and the man gestures to the tie at Sehun’s robes. 

They’re day robes, not the short riding ones he’s used to, so of course, he’ll need to strip down a bit in order to get the measurements. Strangely, he feels a bit uncomfortable undressing. That is until Youngho locks eyes with him, and heat fills Sehun from head to toe as he reaches behind his back, pulls at the knot until the robes fall open, his chest visible beneath the thin fabric of his chemise. He doesn’t know why, but he feels much more naked now than he’s ever been. 

It’s almost as if Youngho can see into Sehun’s head, read the dream he had. _Youngho’s body along his, overtop of him._ Sehun shakes his head, tries to dislodge the thought. 

The man lets the measure tape do its work, enchanted to stretch along the inseam and the out without the tailor ever having to lift a finger. 

Youngho watches, eyes skimming along Sehun’s body, and it feels—it feels strange. Feels like he’s prey, a hawk circling in the blue sky before the attack. Sehun’s face goes red, and he hopes that the tailor just thinks it’s from the high sun. 

“Thank you very much,” the man says, pushing the glasses up the bridge of his nose a bit as he offers Sehun a hand down after he’s scrambled to tie his robes back up. “And up you go, sir.” 

Youngho takes Sehun’s place, and Sehun...he decides to play the same game. If it’s good enough for Youngho, it’s good enough for him. 

Youngho wears a proud look as he strips himself of his robe, lets it crumple and fall to the floor in one quick move of his hands. His skin has gone tanned in the heat, just like Sehun’s, and it’s pretty, much too pretty. Sehun’s wanted to touch. Not in sleep. When he was awake enough to commit it to memory. 

As the tape flutters and flies through the air, stretching over Youngho’s body, he lets his eyes play over the soft parts of Youngho’s thighs. He looks to Youngho’s face, sees him smile, and it’s fire and lightning, jittering through Sehun. _Look your fill_ , he says silently. _Look and imagine our bodies together._

Sehun forces himself to look away just as the measuring tape flies to rest along the tailor’s neck again.

“Sirs,” the tailor says, bowing as he offers them a hand to shake. “They’ll be ready by morning.” 

“Excellent,” Youngho says, and he is slow in his dressing. “We’ll leave you to your work, then, sir. Blessed day.” 

“And to you,” he says, aiding Youngho as he steps down from the platform, the front of his robe still hung open lewdly. “Blessed day, sir.”  
  


♔

“I mustn't.”

“And why not?” 

Sehun groans, rests against the bar. He is so full. Bloomfair uses the bamboo in everything, especially in their cooking, and the stir-fried bamboo with ground pork, seasoned with chiles and sesame, sits happily in his stomach. He is _tempted_ , of course. Youngho tempts him in everything, but they’ve a long ride still to the edge of Mulvilla, and— 

“ _Larkling_ ,” Youngho sings, tilting the bottle of rice wine from side to side. “Have a celebratory drink with me.” 

“What exactly are we celebrating, then?” 

“Our third sennight,” Youngho says. “Nearing the close of the first leg of our pilgrimage. Finding company in the long night.” 

“ _Long night_ ,” Sehun scoffs. “You sound as stupid as the poets.” 

“Have a grudge against a poet, do you?” Youngho says, pouring Sehun a small cup of the clear wine. “You know the best remedy for a grudge?” 

“If you say drinking, I’ll know you’re lying,” Sehun says. 

“But it isn’t a lie,” Youngho says, and he nudges the cup forward towards Sehun. “You must know by now that I would never tell a lie.” 

Sehun rolls his eyes. “You’ve told me plenty of stories when you’ve lied to save your own ass.” 

“True,” Youngho says, poking his finger into Sehun’s side, making him wiggle away. “But I’ve never lied to you.” 

It gives Sehun pause, and he looks up and into Youngho’s ambered eyes slowly, as if he’s trying to find the lies. But he can’t, he realizes. If Youngho is lying, Sehun will never know, because all he sees is truth. Bond. Love.  
  


♔

There isn’t much sentiment in leaving Bloomfair, but the ride is much more comfortable thanks to their new riding britches.

It is only two or three sets of the sun before they’ll make it to Blackpool, but they hurry along anyway. The quicker they do, the easier their trip will be. 

Sehun often has to wake Youngho in the mornings, petting his hair flat against his head and wiping the sleep from his eyes. 

“You’re not my mother,” Youngho fusses, voice still rough. 

“No, but someone has to take care of you.” It’s out before he can chastise himself, before he can realize how terribly affectionate it sounds. 

“Thank the gods I’ve found you, then. Where would I be without you, lark?” 

“Bottom of a ditch,” Sehun says, whacking him in the arm. “Let’s go. It’s time to move.” 

But Youngho wraps his arms around Sehun, pulls him back to the floor of the tent. 

“Just a moment longer,” Youngho says. 

“B—” 

“Not a word from your lips, larkling. We have to enjoy ourselves sometimes to make the journey worth it.” 

And Sehun closes his eyes again, sure that Youngho is right in this the way he is in everything else.  
  


♔

The nights are so unseasonably warm that even Sehun starts to sleep without a chemise, and their chest stick together with sweat in the dark. There’s something about it that sits right in Sehun’s stomach, the way they bind to the other. Sometimes, they’ll open the curtain to the tent to let the gentle winds enter, and Sehun nuzzles into the light covers, content.

It feels wrong to be so happy on a pilgrimage, something meant to show dedication to the gods. Not that all pilgrimages demand that a man bleeds, suffers, but it feels...feels too simple, too beautiful. And sometimes, he’ll turn in the night, flip onto his side so he can look upon Youngho’s face without judgement. 

The beauty in him is not just surface level, it sprawls under his surface, something magical and wonderful, and Sehun meditates on how gifted he’s been just to know him. 

“Sleep,” Youngho commands, eyes still closed, and Sehun jolts. “Quiet your mind.” 

Sehun does his best, lets his eyes slip closed to match Youngho’s if only to obey him.  
  


♔

The final stop in Mulvilla, for all the kingdom’s beauty, is little more than a fort, not much of a city at all.

Blackpool rests on the east of a small lake, and the water is deep and clear, so clear that when they pass by, Sehun can spot some fish, some weeds and rocks at the bottom.

The supplies are not rich with culture like those of Bloomfair, Terreholm, even Appleby. The food they sell is enough to get you by, plain and practical. The tailors don’t make clothes or sell fine jewelries, but they offer their darning and repair services for a nominal fee. They sell special enchanted masks, and Youngho buys them without question: Sehun takes them as a necessity, as there is no joy in his face at the purchase. What horrors await… 

Sehun and Youngho stay with several other men in a common room, and there aren’t frames to the beds, as the mattresses are rolled and stored away in the evening. Youngho pushes his bed against Sehun’s for each night that they sleep there, pausing before the jump into the great unknown. 

There is a strange solemness to the place, and it puts a weight on Sehun’s heart. There—there is to be suffering ahead, he knows. The first month of the Light Pilgrimage from Mulvilla is always the simplest. Mulvilla is beautiful, fertile, the people friendly and happy. 

The second month, however—not everyone is so lucky to make it out alive. There are different ways, of course, multiple routes to travel. They could try their luck in running through the thunder fields in the shadow of Jongdae’s kingdom, circumnavigating Mount Jigu. But the lighting storms can be fatal, and the quick shifts from hot to cold at the Mount are terrible for the condition. Even if you manage to make it through to the third month, you’ve still got to deal with the Ruins of Lumencastle, the silent city, the place where no one speaks for fear of what might happen if they did. Ghosts live in the air, and maybe, if you opened your mouth, they’d take your body for their own. 

Sehun shivers at the thought. 

“We’ll travel through the south,” Youngho says with a nod. 

“Th-through Yeol,” Sehun says. “Right.” 

“There is a fortress at the Barren Steppes,” Youngho says, gesturing to the map sprawled across the little wooden table. “And then, it is a long journey to the Dread Field. I’ve heard that sometimes, people are so starved by the Dread Field that they find bodies bloated with _sand_.” 

Sehun twists his face in disgust, and Youngho laughs, pinches his cheek. Maybe it was foolish to come. Maybe he wasn’t ready for such a journey. Maybe...maybe he’s made the biggest mistake of his life, coming here. 

“Shouldn’t we pass by Varrencarres instead, then? Won’t it—won’t it be impossible to make it through the Dread Field?” Sehun asks. 

“No,” Youngho says, calm as the still sea. “It won’t be impossible. You have me, larkling.”  
  


♔

They pack bags upon bags of rations, and the more they prepare, the more he worries. Will they have enough? Will they make it?

“We mustn't worry about what we can’t control,” Youngho says, and the smoke curls into the air as he exhales. 

One of the few luxuries of Blackpool is the smoke shop, and the smell alone was enough to make Sehun turn and exit, leaning against the stone wall of the building as he waited, but Youngho spends a few pieces, buys a few hand-rolled sticks, and as they sit behind the boarding house, the sun setting over the lake, he puffs at them, blowing rings into the air. 

“You always say that,” Sehun says. 

“That’s because I mean it,” Youngho says. He leans his head onto Sehun’s shoulder, and Sehun...it’s not a romantic gesture, but it doesn’t stop him from wanting it to be. 

It is the perfect time, Sehun thinks, to kiss Youngho. With the mellow, middling light. With the smell of the herbs from the smoking sticks. With Youngho’s weight on him. With Youngho’s tongue. Clever and quick. What might it taste like? Smoke and ash? Flowers? Or just the sweetness of new love? 

It has only been a month, but he is in love, he’s sure of it now. In love for only the second time, and truly, Sehun is starting to think that perhaps the first time never really counted at all. 

“Is this wise?” Sehun thinks aloud. 

“I’ve done it before,” Youngho says, and Sehun wonders _love, or the pilgrimage?_  
  


♔

Their final meal in Blackpool is as sparse as the rest: two fried eggs with speckled with black pepper, two links of blood-sausage, and a peeled and segmented orange. Sehun drinks mint tea sweetened with honey, and Youngho steals his mug to sip at it too, even though he swore he didn’t want any.

They don’t do much talking, but Sehun knows they are on the edge of something beautiful and terrible, so it feels earned. Will the danger be worth it? Should he have listened better to Junmyeon? Should he— 

“Lark,” Youngho says, nudging Sehun’s foot under the table. “You have to be sure.” 

“I am sure,” Sehun says. 

“You don’t look sure.” Sehun looks up at him, and Youngho is smiling. “In fact, you look quite _unsure_.” 

“I worry,” Sehun says. 

“Worry is a good thing,” Youngho says, taking Sehun’s mug again, taking another sweet sip. “In moderation, of course.” 

“I’ve enough for both of us, then,” Sehun says. 

“Good,” Youngho smiles. “I’ve never been one for worry.” 

“A wonder you’re still here,” Sehun says. 

“A wonder, indeed.”  
  


♔

As they look out over the ends of the grasslands, the ends of the reaches of Mulvilla, Sehun notices how the horizon waves with the high heats of forgotten Yeol, mere shadows of the Leaper king’s city that died in the fires of war.

“It will be difficult. And dangerous,” Youngho warns. “It isn’t too late to turn back, lark.” 

Sehun looks to the line of brown and blue, the gentle tumbling of air against his skin enough to raise goosebumps along his arms. They are standing on the face of the sun, the light undeniable, insurmountable, and yet, they are intended to surmount it. 

Sehun turns to Youngho with a smile, takes his hand in his. “Shall we go?” 

“Yes,” Youngho says, squeezing Sehun’s hand gently. “We shall.”


	2. book one, chapter two

Winds whip past them as they walk, and they wrap themselves with heavy scarves to protect from the glass storms that rage through the mornings. The enchanted masks come in handy. If they didn’t have them, they would have already lost their eyes to the storms, blinded in the middle of the wasteland. 

“It only lasts until high noon,” Youngho says, voice gritty. “Worry not.” 

All Sehun knows is worry, here in the kingdom of Yeol.  
  


♔

  
  
Back before Sehun was born, there was a war. Jongin, the Leaper king, sat upon the golden throne of Varrencarres. Yeol, a kingdom of the driest deserts known to their world, thrived under him. He gathered the great minds and together, they developed a system of canals, feeding crops in the arid land. The people worked hand in hand to build the vast sprawling system, and for their immense efforts, they were rewarded immensely. Small, happy settlements grew, and Varrencarres was known as one of those most beautiful places in the world. On top of it all, Jongin’s power meant he could leap through the world, and before people died of their thirst in his kingdom, the Leaper king would appear before them, a canteen at his hip.

He would hold them in his arms, their skin sallow and their eyes yellow, and he would feed them the water by his own hand, whipping them through space until they rested in the midst of his grand castle, raised back to health and sent on their way with well wishes. 

But the peace of Yeol was not to last. 

There were men who controlled the Fire God, God of Inferno, the one called Chanyeol. A group of six men instructed him, and he was young, too powerful to be stopped. The six rulers wanted the dry lands for their own, and Chanyeol did as he was bid, took the sands within his grasp and felt it drip back out between his fingers. 

The wildfires rose from the shadows of his steps, and as he moved through the deserts, the sands went so hot that the earth turned to sheets of black glass beneath him. 

Jongin was just as strong, in his own way, but when the young Fire Lord came, Varrencarres melted around him. And the Angels, the unlucky few standing in the courtyard, they looked to the heavens, barely getting out a scream as their bodies went to white ash, the black scorched circles of their funeral pyres are the only mark they ever existed at all. 

Chanyeol wiped all memory that Yeol ever thrived, all art and literature lost to the blazes. And now, two hundred summers or more past, Yeol is nothing but a red and black waste, the canals gone dry, the crops fallow. The glass floors of Chanyeol’s travels show the way to Varrencarres, and the edges of the glass chip in the blustery winds, the storms lethal. You can leave scarred, or you can stay, a mangled bloody mess to be swallowed by the sands.  
  


♔

  
  
They’ve been journeying for a sennight, and Sehun’s hands sweat within his gloves. He has his robes sleeves tucked into the edges of them, and it is so hot that he wishes he could strip himself bare under the sun. But the glass storms can rage at any moment, no matter what Youngho says, so Sehun keeps himself well covered. It would only take a clever shard to cut at his wrist, and then...well, suffice it to say, his pilgrimage would come to a quick end.

There has been much less joy, since their start into Yeol, and Sehun wonders if that is a mark of the hallowed grounds upon which they walk. 

The kingdom is ruled, in truth, by no one. Though the land is Chanyeol’s, his to do with what he wishes, it stagnates like water untouched and unmoved. It is a place for ghosts, and only ghosts walk through it. 

They would have to be monstrous to subject the torture of the kingdom to anyone besides themselves, so it was with heavy hearts that they checked the horses at Blackpool for the summer. Watching Youngho pat at Aerie’s nose was a quick break to the mood, but Sehun had no idea how much lower it could go. 

They are tired, Sehun can tell from the pace. The bags that would normally be held on the backs of the horses now rest on their own backs, and gods, it is a trial just to keep moving. Each step feels like a thousand, but Sehun promised himself back on the edge of Blackpool, at the shivering edge of Yeol, that he would make it. That they would make it together. 

“Lark,” Youngho calls, and it is muffled under his mask, almost so muffled that Sehun can’t hardly understand him. But he’s gotten good at translating the sounds. 

They near the Barren Steppes, and Sehun is thankful for it. They run low on supplies now, their bags close to empty of food and water. He thirsts near constantly, has no time or energy to think of anything else. What have they done? What horrible decision has he made? He isn’t sure he knew the true dangers of this place. 

“We’ll be okay,” Youngho calls, and he offers a gloved hand out to Sehun. 

It is a cold comfort, but cold comforts are welcome in this heat. 

The only time that he’s able to touch Youngho’s bare skin is during the night, and it’s the only time they’re able to whisper to each other, the sound falling away as they hold each other through the hot nights, winds stirring the glass sands around them. 

It is often that he feels like crying, like he needs a way to release the frustration, the anger, the fear. But whenever he feels that way, the world seems to sense it, and it pushes them forward with the winds picking up under their feet.  
  


♔

  
  
They eat their suppers in the small tent, needing no water or fire to prepare them. It’s all dried meats and fruits, hard cheeses and crackers, flatbreads that have been dried. Youngho seems to have lost all his pickiness, eats just as much as Sehun will give him, almost always trying to use his handsome face to swindle Sehun out of more. He’s as staunch as he can manage to be.

“We’re very nearly there,” Sehun says. “And we need what we’ve packed to last another night.” 

“Then I’ll starve the final day,” Youngho says. “Give me the cheese.” 

Sehun clutches it close to his chest, shielding it as though he was a mother protecting her babe. 

“You’re no fun,” Youngho sighs. 

“I’m plenty fun,” Sehun says, nose raised. 

“You’ve been so joyless since we left Blackpool,” Youngho complains, lying back onto his blankets. “I knew that you wouldn’t like the heat. You’re quite fussy.” 

“I’m _not_ fussy.” 

“There you go, fussing again.” 

Sehun grabs his pillow, makes to shove it into Youngho’s face to shut him up, but Youngho is too quick: he grabs Sehun by the hand, drags him flat to his body. Sehun feels his eyes go wide, spread across Youngho’s body like this—he hasn’t had much time to think about things like this. The only time he sees Youngho’s body uncovered is in the night, and even then, Sehun worries more than he allows himself to dream. 

“Is that better?” Youngho asks, voice husky. 

Sehun laughs sharply.

“Don’t you ever quiet?” he asks, but he curls onto Youngho’s body, allows himself to dream just until the blazing sun rises once more.  
  


♔

  
  
The Barren Steppes is not the oasis that Sehun had imagined, but there is more moisture in the air, and he didn’t realize how much he missed it. It is just as hot, of course, but the shrubs look healthful, not all razored by the storms or burned to ash in spontaneous fires that creep up from the sands.

There is a small fortress, built of brick. It is a place of respite, a place to replenish their stores of food and water so that they might make the long journey. 

There are few people who roam the place, seemingly only those who offer solace to those who make pilgrimages. It wears the same solemness as Blackpool, and everyone looks so proper and serious as they sell their food and healing items. They’d do well with some of those, in preparation for the things that await, so Sehun buys as much as he think he can carry. 

It is their first proper bath in a sennight, and Sehun can’t help but moan as he sinks into the pool of pleasantly cool water. They’ve been living with a thick heat on their skin for what seems like forever, and letting it slough off in the water, the dirts and oils sloughing off much the same, feels like becoming a new man. 

“Next time someone sells you perfume,” Youngho says, “tell them it better work in the deserts. Without passing that test, they are worthless to you.” 

“Shut up,” Sehun says, and he splashes water across to Youngho’s pool, smiling. 

“What’s gotten into you, lark?” Youngho teases. “Hm? Did it only take a bath to calm the babe?” 

“If there is a babe between us, it is _you_ ,” Sehun says. 

“Yes, you are right,” Youngho says, resting his head back against the brick wall of the pool. “It is I.” 

Sehun rolls his eyes, but even in a place so silent, so dignified, the calm starts to creep back into him. Some of the worst of their journey is behind him. And for the next while, two suns or so, they have earned their relaxation.  
  


♔

  
  
Oil lamps light the room dimly, prettily, and Sehun rests back against the bed, hands over his stomach, drifting on the edge of sleep and awake. It had been trial after trial in the first part of their tour through Yeol, worrying over rations of food and water, the near-constant storms. At least they’ve reached their first stop, though. There are some who aren’t as lucky. Gods know they passed them.

A finger pets along the space between his brows. He opens his eyes, sees Youngho leaning over him, touching him. 

“You look angry,” he says. 

“I’m afraid that’s just the way my face looks. It’s been that way since I was born, and I believe it will look that way until I die.” 

“You can’t fool me, larkling,” Youngho says, standing up straight over Sehun, arms folded. “I know you like the back of my hand now. You have quite a pretty face in rest.” 

“No, I don’t,” Sehun argues. 

Youngho leans back over him, smiles down. “Yes. You do.” 

_This_ , Sehun thinks, looking up at him. _This might be the perfect time to tell him. To confess._

The lamps give them orange and red, and it would look so perfect, Sehun thinks, if he were to take Youngho’s hands in his, pull him flat to the bed. Whisper what he’s been meaning to say for so long now. That every part of Youngho makes him feel alive. That he could spend forever with him. That his heart doesn’t seem quite big enough to hold someone so effervescent, so titanic, and yet, Sehun wants with all of him, wants to try. 

He would kiss him deeply as he’s dreamed of doing. He would taste him, taste the salt of sweat along the slope of his neck. He would swallow whatever sounds of pleasure he made. He would beg for more, on his knees, forehead resting against the ground. Would Youngho say his name? Would he...would he know exactly what he wanted to do to Sehun? Has he dreamed of it? Has he yearned for Sehun the way Sehun has yearned for him? 

The moment is tense, thick with lust, and Sehun can sense it clouding his vision. It would be so perfect. So simple. 

Youngho smiles, gentle and soft, and he runs a thumb along Sehun’s lip. He gasps, the sound falling from his mouth, unthinking. There is never a thought when it comes to Youngho, only instinct. Coarse but lush. 

“Rest now,” he says softly. “We’ve a long journey ahead.” 

Sehun shuts his eyes as he’s bade, and he hears the huff of laughter from Youngho, the little pleasant sort that makes Sehun think that this is all so much bigger than the two of them.  
  


♔

  
  
He packed their bags as full as they could carry, and even still, when they start the long road to the Dread Field, he begins to worry it won’t be enough. They have so much, and yet, the travels will take at least a fortnight to make it through the grand gate at the edge of the kingdom of Bichwood.

Sehun still wears his mask to cover his face, but half of it is to mask his fear from Youngho—he doesn’t want to show any weakness. He should know better, though. Youngho is able to see right through him as if he was only made of glass. 

“Do you worry even now?” Youngho says with a laugh. “Does the Dread Field scare you, little lark?” 

Sehun adjusts the mask at his face, spies through it. It shields his eyes from Youngho’s gaze: he can see through it, darkened by the fabric, but Youngho can’t see his eyes in return.

“Of course it does,” he answers. “Only a fool wouldn’t be scared.” 

“We’re well prepared,” Youngho says, and he starts walking a bit faster. “Come now. If we hurry along, we can make the gate in only a sennight and a half.” 

There is optimism dripping from every inch of him, and Sehun wonders how he gets the courage. It might be the foolish sort of courage, but it is courage all the same. Sehun wonders if it might behoove him to let a little of that fool’s courage inspire some within him. 

He hurries to make up the distance between them, the bags not seeming to weigh him down as much along the way.  
  


♔

  
  
They mostly walk in silence, trying to conserve their energy, but the boredom gets to Youngho most of all, and Sehun can tell as he sighs beside him.

“Deserts are my least favorite places in this world,” he gripes, wiping the sand away from his mouth. “It’s just sand, sand, sand.” 

“Isn’t that what makes them a desert?” Sehun asks softly. 

“Ha ha, you’re very funny, here in the middle of hell,” Youngho sneers, and he kicks sand at Sehun’s feet. 

“If you were looking for a traveling partner solely for entertainment, then I’m afraid you made the wrong choice back in Leefside,” Sehun says. 

There is quiet, but not the type Sehun’s become accustomed to. He turns his head sharply, straightening the mask when he looks at Youngho. 

Youngho, bare skin. Clear skin. Beautiful as the day Sehun met him, even in hell. 

“I made the right choice, little lark,” he says, and he reaches out, takes Sehun’s hand in his. “Do you mind? It would be better this way, I think.” 

Sehun says nothing, only squeezes Youngho’s hand in his as they continue to trudge through the endless sands, nothing before them but more of the same.  
  


♔

  
  
They start to move solely during the night, sleeping during the day. The heats rise and rise, never seem to stop rising, and when Youngho suggests the switch, Sehun is relieved. It is much cooler at night with the sun being set, though it’s still not _cool_ , per se. He still sweats in the evening, but it feels a little nicer, breezes laced with a bit more chill.

Youngho fashions them torches of a sort, made from scrapped wood and spare bits of dense fabric. They both hold the torches out in front of them as they move through the black night, warm glow enough to keep them moving. 

“It’s actually quite pleasant at night,” Sehun remarks sleepily as the sun starts to come up, the dawn breaking over them. 

“It is,” Youngho replies, but he watches Sehun, Sehun’s mask not hiding much of anything. 

They set their camp just as the morning stretches up over the flatlands, and after they eat the meager portions that Sehun will allow for supper, they strip down to nothing inside their tent, skin sticking to each other where they meet. 

_Maybe we will make it_ , Sehun thinks with a smile as he closes his eyes, willing his body to sleep. _Maybe Youngho was right. Maybe, just maybe, all will be well._  
  


♔

  
  
It is not his wish to belabor the point, but with the way they both eat and the way Youngho needles at him for more, the rations piss away.

“No,” Sehun says, and he pulls the bag back to him. “These are for the second leg.” 

“Then, we won’t miss just a touch,” Youngho says with a charming smile, hands clever as they move into the back, stealing a bit of dried fruit and popping it into his mouth. “Mm. Lark. You must have some. You’re going to turn to all skin and bones.” 

Sehun wants to turn away from it, wants to put his foot down to it, but when Youngho holds the piece of apple to Sehun’s mouth, he opens for it, chews and swallows it down. The smile blooms on Youngho’s face, flowers and sunlight. Nothing so small has ever felt so decadent, so indulgent.  
  


♔

  
  
He regrets letting Youngho get away with things because when he looks at the rations, starts doing the math, it doesn’t add up. The fear starts to sit in his stomach again, much the same as the first part of their journey, and it puts him on edge.

There is not much excitement as they move through the darkness. And to try to keep Sehun’s spirits up, to pass the time now, now that they’re out of the sun, Youngho will talk. He tells more stories of adventures, of places he’s seen, people he’s met. But sometimes, Sehun just— 

“Lately, all I’ve been dreaming of is food,” Youngho says, as if Sehun could magic up some roast pork from out of his robe. “The first thing I think I’ll have when we get to the Bichwood is...”

“Youngho.” 

He turns at his name, eyes studying Sehun. “Lark?” 

“Please,” Sehun says sadly. “Please, just a little quiet.” 

Youngho turns back forward, and they walk in silence.  
  


♔

  
  
When they rest for the morning, Sehun turns, studies Youngho’s face. He looks like a properly scolded puppy, wearing a brow-beaten look as he stares up at the top of their tent. They hadn’t spoken for the rest of the day, and even though Sehun thought it might make him feel better, it only served to make him feel worse. Because it was silence that he had chosen against Youngho’s will.

“Youngho.” 

His eyes flick over to meet Sehun’s, and Sehun offers a small smile, but it does no good. Youngho only turns onto his side, his back to Sehun. 

“Youngho-yah,” Sehun says. 

But the only response he receives is the gentle movement of Youngho’s back, his body shifting with breath. He places his hand along Youngho’s shoulder, feels the muscles bunch under his touch as Youngho turns. 

“What?” he says flatly. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” Youngho says, and there’s none of the typical emotion, none of his amusement or joviality. 

“Youngho, please.” 

“No, you were quite right,” he says. “Silence is best.” And he turns back over, his back to Sehun once more. 

Sehun rolls his eyes. It is like dealing with a weeping, colicky babe. 

“I have been nervous,” Sehun says. “And I should not have taken it out on you.” 

Youngho sighs, turns back over to face Sehun. He reaches up, takes Sehun’s face in a hand. 

“You can share your worries with me,” he says. “You can let me carry them.” 

But Youngho isn’t the kind to carry any worries. They fall thoughtlessly from his shoulders, like water falling from open skies. 

“Okay,” Sehun says. “I will let you carry them.” 

Youngho smiles, pats Sehun on the cheek, and Sehun closes his eyes to it, sick with the knowledge of his lie.  
  


♔

  
  
They could not be in worse conditions. Even if he’s to cut their food back by half, leaving them near starving, they will still not even make it to the Dread Field. He only brings up these concerns to Youngho once after their quarrel, but he brushes Sehun off much the same as he always does. He wears no cares along the broad of his shoulders, only the finest of silks, the softest of cottons.

That’s why when he tenses in the middle of their midnight, Sehun takes notice immediately. 

“What is it?” 

But Youngho stops in his tracks. 

“What?” Sehun asks. 

He covers Sehun’s mouth with his hand, and Sehun goes obediently quiet. That is when he feels it: the ground moving under their feet. 

“Oh no,” Youngho says, sniffing the air wildly, like a dog catching a scent. 

Sehun tries to speak, only managing a muffle, but even that is too much. 

Youngho turns, and with a large arc to the throw, he hurls his torch through the air. When it lands, the fire dims for a moment before it roars back to life, the most horrific sight before them. 

Sehun can see the movement of them under the sand, the burrows they’ve dug in the day. But as the night sets, they emerge, scaled with fiery red and black. On their backs, there are spines as big as his forearm, as sharp as they are dangerous. They are as large a creature as Sehun has ever seen with his own eyes, not just pictures in a book, and they reek of eggs gone rotten. In the night, they scuttle forward, quick and jittering. 

And then, the leader of the pack of four rears back, the dewlap and jowls of its throat glowing like embers, and it opens its mouth slowly, slowly. 

Sehun turns to Youngho, and his eyes are fearful for the first time since Sehun’s known him. 

“Run.” 

They sprint off just as the fire lizard behind them spits flames at their backs, the world going yellow, orange, and red as they run. Sehun’s back feels hot, impossibly hot, almost as if he’s on fire, and he chances a look back over his shoulder to make sure that his robes haven’t caught the flames. 

The pack of fire lizards advances, fast and faster still, and Sehun’s eyes go wide as he watches them breathe their fire, screaming into the sky and along the sand like Chanyeol’s fire magic. 

“Don’t _look at them_ ,” Youngho chastises, grabbing Sehun’s hand in his. “Just _run_.” 

They move, keep moving, try not to stop, and he can feel his legs tiring. But Youngho’s touch gives him strength, and the threat of hot death at his back keeps him leaping ever forward. They scramble through the sands, but the fire lizards are much too fast, the stench of their sulfur overwhelming and dense like a cloud around them. 

He moans in pain as his legs start to cramp, and gods, give him the strength to carry on. He needs it now more than ever. 

“Look,” Youngho points, screaming over the screeching sounds of the fire lizards. “Look, there.” 

Sehun follows the line, sees the little shack like an oasis in front of them. If only they could make it. If only they could reach it. But it seems so...so impossibly far. They are losing the start they had on the pack, and the flames around them only seem to build, a pyre for the two of them. 

_If only I was a lark_ , Sehun wishes to the gods, to _himself_ , body rapidly draining of energy, tense with agony. _If only I could fly, if only I could save the two of us from this, if only I could keep him safe—_

As they approach the lone shack in the middle of the horrible desert, a storm starts to whip sands up around them. It swells, turning and funneling around them, and Sehun’s heart pumps hard. It is the end of them. He squeezes his eyes shut as the winds hit them hard. It will swallow them up, it will devour them whole. His body seeks to reject it, the impending doom, but even as he struggles, his feet moving in the shifting sands, he knows. 

But then, as they continue to run, pushing back against immovable force, the storm moves past them. Their eyes go wide as it swirls back, releasing them from its grips. 

The sands rage, pulses of rocks and winds, and as it moves back from them, they watch it consume the fire lizards in a tornado of sand and fire. They don’t stop running, they keep running, they move as quick as they can, and once they reach the shack, shutting the rickety door firmly behind them, they watch through the little window as the storm buries the fire lizards deep, back within the earth. 

All he hears is the blood in his ears, the hammering of his heart, the in and in of his breathing. He turns to Youngho, the dirt and sand sticking to his sweat, and he bursts into tears, wrapping his arms around him, holding him as tightly as he can manage. 

“Shh,” Youngho says, a hand at the back of Sehun’s head, petting through his hair. The sand falls to the wooden floor as Youngho begins to brush him clean. “It’s okay. You’re alright, larkling. You’ve made it.” 

But Sehun doesn’t feel like he’s survived. He only feels like pieces of him keep chipping away, lost in the winds of time.  
  


♔

  
  
After they hold each other to calm, Sehun stands, watches the sands. They’ve kept themselves hidden, careful. They aren’t in the condition to withstand more near-death experiences, so he worries over the tornadoes, whipped up from nothing. But the sands stay still, and they only watch the nothingness. The seemingly unending nothingness. Youngho sleeps on the floor, body curled small, and as he’s resting, Sehun waits. Waits and pokes around the little shack.

The shack in the middle of the desert should not exist. It exists against all odds, stands in the face of all logic and reason, but still, it stands. There is no bed, no bath, but there is a desk. And there is a chair. A perch in the window. 

Sehun sits at the desk, the chair creaking underneath his weight. They are nothing special, the wood dull and scratched over time. There is a pen and a well of ink that’s long gone dry, and a stack of parchment has been scattered across the little corner of the room. The wind must have gotten to it. 

There is a drawer to the desk, but it is locked. Sehun spies around for a key, but finds none. He looks out the window next to the desk, stands. Runs his hand over the perch. It must have been a raven outpost. He skims his fingers over the notches and grooves in the wood, imagines the ravens that must have landed here, once upon a time. 

“What are you doing?” Youngho asks, and he arches his back, one arm over his head in a full-body stretch. 

“Looking,” Sehun answers. 

“What are you looking for?” 

Sehun has no answer to the question. He is looking for so much. Fresh water. Food. Purpose and love and a home. He only plays idly with the small lock on the drawer, lets it fall between his fingers, rattling. 

“What have you found, hm?” Youngho asks, bent low at Sehun’s back, chin hooked over Sehun’s shoulder. “Do you think we’ll find secrets inside?” 

“We might,” Sehun says. “If we were able to get it open.” 

“To the side, please.” 

Sehun looks at him, and Youngho grins. 

“What?” Youngho says. “Did you think I wouldn’t be able to do something as simple as pick a lock? You have so little faith in me, larkling.” 

Sehun rolls his eyes. Even so, he stands, lets Youngho take his seat at the desk. Youngho hunches over, and quicker than Sehun can even see, shielding his ministrations, he throws the opened lock to the side. 

“H-How did you do that?” Sehun wonders. 

Youngho holds a pin up with a sly smile. “What, lark? Did you think I was magic?”

 _Sometimes, it feels exactly that way_ , Sehun thinks, but he keeps that to himself, observing with great interest as Youngho pulls the drawer open. 

“Oh,” Sehun says, and he reaches forward, tries to grab for the letters, but Youngho slaps his hands away. “Ouch.” 

“No touching,” Youngho says. 

“And why not?” 

“Because I was the very clever one who was able to pick the lock,” Youngho says, “so I’m the one who gets to investigate.” 

Sehun folds his arms across his chest, pouting as Youngho begins to rifle through the letters, torn open and stored. 

“They’re old,” Youngho says. “Quite old. Correspondence from—” 

Sehun peeks over his shoulder at the letter on top, only managing to make out a few phrases: _the reinforcements you requested....I am unable...time and history will tell—_

“From what?” 

Youngho goes quiet, starts to gather letters back into a pile. 

“From what?” Sehun repeats. 

“From before the war. Before we were born,” Youngho says, tapping the letters neat on the top of the desk before he shuts the drawer closed. “And there are some things better left unread.” 

Sehun furrows his brow. What could be more horrible than the stories he’s already heard? What could be more terrible than what they already know? 

Nonetheless, Youngho retrieves the lock, hooks it through the latch, and then clicks it closed. Sehun just stands there, unable to do much of anything except obey him. The curiosity still sits in his stomach, but when they gather their belongings and leave the little raven post behind them, Sehun puts it from his mind.  
  


♔

  
  
They won’t make it. Of that, Sehun is sure.

Their pace is too slow now, their limbs heavy with hunger and thirst, but they don’t have enough in their packs to expend much more, no matter how much Youngho might needle him. They go hungry and thirsty just to extend their trip, and even still, it will not be enough. 

“You’ve got to listen,” Sehun says, feet moving through the sand like it’s molasses. “We’ve no choice.” 

“There is always a choice,” Youngho says stubbornly. 

“You cannot believe that to be true,” Sehun says. “There isn’t always a choice. Sometimes, the choices are made for us, and trying to force the change is as if you are tying a rope to the tide to drag the ocean where you will it.” 

“Then I’ll move the oceans,” Youngho says. “The Dread Field is the only way.” 

“Why are you so against going south?” Sehun asks. “Surely, they at least have—” 

“It doesn’t matter what they have or what they do not have,” he says, continuing to push north. “We are not going.” 

“But why?” Sehun asks, and he jogs forward, closes the gap between them enough to reach for Youngho’s hand, pulling him to a stop. “Tell me why. Give me a good reason, and I will yield to you.” 

Youngho’s face goes gentle and soft. He reaches out, holds Sehun’s face in his hands as the wind starts to pick up around them. 

“I only have a feeling,” Youngho says. “You must trust me.”  
  


♔

  
  
It is a strange feeling, to be sure, to have unwavering trust in someone suddenly waver.

Sehun follows wherever Youngho leads him, does as Youngho asks of him. What is this, Sehun wonders. What’s become of him? Has he ever been so spineless in his life? Is this what love does to a man? If that is the case, then love is the most dangerous of all because Sehun can feel himself dying as he trails along, following in the footsteps that Youngho leaves for him.  
  


♔

  
  
He doesn’t question, not even in the morning when they rest. Youngho stares at him as he pulls the riding robe from his body, lets it fall from his shoulders carelessly. All his movements are slow now. Slow and stupid.

His stomach aches constantly, and his head hurts, even at night when they walk. The heat of the morning is unbearable, dry and waterless, and as he lies down next to Youngho, he moans in pain. 

“Do you trust me?” Youngho asks again. 

He places the back of his hand on his forehead, trying to trick himself into thinking that it cools him down. “If I didn’t,” he says, breathing slow, “I sincerely doubt I would be here.” Sehun shuts his eyes, eager to find rest. Maybe he’ll feel better in the evening.  
  


♔

  
  
The signs that mark the way are battered and bruised by the winds, even the strongest of wood left marred and scratched. Even so, Sehun can clearly make out the arrows, make out the crossroads that they wander upon. North to the Dread Field. South, to the lost city of Varrencarres.

He turns to Youngho with pleading eyes. It is his last chance. He must make a stand. 

“You know as well as I that if we make to the our way north, our death is assured. You might as well write it into a song,” Sehun says. “There is no fort within the field. There is only suffering.” 

Youngho pulls his gloves from off his hands, and he pulls Sehun’s mask down from his face so that it hangs around his neck. He brushes the back of his hand along Sehun’s cheek, eyes sparkling. 

“We will make it,” Youngho says. “I promise you.” 

“We won’t,” Sehun says, and the wind starts to pick up, makes his eyes go wet with tears. “I’m—”

“I know,” Youngho says, and he holds Sehun’s face in his cupped hands, frowning as he looks over Sehun’s face. “I can feel the fear within you.” 

“We can’t make it,” Sehun says. “We’ll never make it. Look at our rations. Look what we’ve got left. We...we’ll never make it. Please. Please listen to me. Please, just this once, trust in _me._ You do, don’t you? You trust in me?” 

“More than I’ve ever trusted any other,” Youngho smiles. 

“Then trust me in this,” Sehun says. “We must go south.” 

Youngho looks up to the sky, the bright white sun above them. 

“Ah. I suppose Varrencarres is the only way, then,” Youngho says, rubbing a thumb along Sehun’s cheek. 

“It is,” Sehun pleads. “We must go south. We’d be dead by the time we reached the Field.” 

It is a lifetime, the sands stirring around them, the sun high overhead, before Youngho breaks silence. 

“Alright,” Youngho says, and Sehun can see the dryness at his lips as he smiles. “Alright, no need to beg me.” 

Sehun appreciates the attempt at humor, because it has been so long since he’s felt like smiling. He shoves his elbow into Youngho’s side, grins brightly.  
  


♔

  
  
Sehun doesn’t dream of anything but water. In all his dreams, he is swimming, taking as much water as he can, swallowing as much as he can fit in his mouth. Pools and lakes and rivers, bathing and swimming and drinking from pitchers. He feels his throat work as he drinks, drinks, drinks more than he ever has before. He’ll never take water for granted again. He will worship the water. Give himself to the Water God. Pray at his altar. Serve at his temple. All just for a sip from a cup. Even just a drop.

He opens his eyes, and Youngho looks down at him. Sehun blinks slowly, moving through the syrup of sleep. He arches his back, tenses in a stretch before smiling up at Youngho. 

“Was your dream pleasant?” Youngho asks, smiling, his hand flat on Sehun’s pectoral. “You were smiling.” 

“Very pleasant,” Sehun says. “I was dreaming of water.” 

“Mm,” Youngho says, and he lays down, his head on Sehun’s chest. _Can he hear the beating of my heart?_ “That sounds very nice.” 

“It does.” 

It will take still five more suns to reach the city, the oasis of water he prays they’ll find in the long forgotten castle. He wishes there was a way to move quicker, to spread themselves thinner. But they are already on their last rations, scrimping impossibly. 

His body aches fiercely with the lack of proper food and drink, and he—he regrets already. 

“Don’t,” Youngho says, and he slaps his palm against Sehun’s stomach.

“I haven’t done anything,” Sehun says. 

“I can always tell when you’re feeling sorry for yourself, lark,” Youngho says, already deep in sleep. “You can’t fool me.” 

Their pace is dreadfully slow, and Sehun can barely get his feet to listen to him as they walk through the sand. _Move_ , he thinks. _We’re so close._

Sehun shuts his eyes again, hopes to dream of water again. Besides Youngho’s presence, his hand in Sehun’s, it is the only thing that brings him joy now.  
  


♔

  
  
It is only two more suns before they’ve completely run out of food and water. It makes Sehun want to scream, the way Youngho looks at him when he tells him. There is a moment of despair, of true uncertainty, and Sehun hates to see it. Youngho is always the very picture of confidence. Of assuredness. Sehun was supposed to take care of him. He was supposed to provide for them. And here they are, at the gates of death.

“It will be okay,” Youngho says, and his hand is gentle against Sehun’s face. “We will survive. We will make it. I swear it to you, lark.” 

_How can you swear something like that?_ , Sehun wonders. But he trusts Youngho with it all, with his entire life. 

“We will,” Sehun says, but he mostly says it to convince himself of it.  
  


♔

  
  
He has never known thirst like this.

He starts to see...to see things along the horizon line. Ponds with thick vegetation surrounding them, trees heavy with ripe fruits. Ladies with hair in braids sprawling down their backs, tresses weaved with ribbons. They wear dresses of silk that wave in the cool breeze. The men, bare chests oiled and glistening gold, carrying water in large vases. 

He shakes his head, and the vision disappears. There is nothing. He is dreaming. 

They walk nonstop for a while, sun and stars all the same to them now, and Sehun tries to wet his mouth, but there is nothing there. He’s stopped pissing altogether now, and that’s somehow worse than the dark yellow from the days past. It will not be long, he thinks. They will be dead soon, he’s sure of it. 

If only he’d put up a fight sooner. If only he’d struggled against the impossibly beautiful thrall of Youngho’s charm. If only. If only.  
  


♔

  
  
Youngho falls to his knees, and Sehun almost doesn’t notice.

For the past three suns, Sehun has led the way, tried to keep their pace lively despite the slow decay of their bodies. There is a strange strength in him now, one he can’t explain, and for the first time, he feels like he’s truly shouldering the weight of another person. 

When Youngho stops, unable to keep moving forward, he calls Sehun’s name in a weak voice, so soft that Sehun very nearly misses it completely. 

Sehun turns, eyes wide, and he rushes to Youngho’s side, falling to his knees much the same. 

“Youngho,” Sehun says. “Are you hurt?” 

“A-All of me aches,” Youngho says, horrified. He stares down at his hands, buried in sand. “I don’t know what’s happening to me, I’m so...I’m so weak.”

“You need water,” Sehun says. 

Youngho tilts his head up, stares at Sehun with vacant eyes, the light draining from him. “I don’t think I can move.” 

There is no decision to be made, there is only whether or not Sehun will act. He can’t let Youngho die here. He won’t let it happen. 

He lifts Youngho up onto his back, summoning all the strength he knows just to start the trudge. They are still one sun away. And the earth seems to stretch on and on in front of him. Who knows if it will ever stop? 

“You can’t carry me,” Youngho says weakly. 

_I can_ , Sehun thinks, hoisting Youngho’s weight a bit more comfortably across his back. _I can, and I will._  
  


♔

  
  
Youngho starts to sing to him.

If Sehun rests for the morning, or even the evening, he doubts he’ll be able to pick Youngho back up again. So he walks, keeps pushing forward, unable to stop because if he stops, they won’t ever start again. 

And Youngho sings in his ear. It is only gentle little humming, all that he has energy for now, but it makes Sehun want to cry. He whimpers, hands shaking as he struggles to keep moving, as he struggles to hold Youngho’s weight. 

“Don’t cry,” Youngho says. “It will all be okay.” 

Sehun squeezes his eyes shut tight, gasping for breath as he listens to Youngho’s song.  
  


♔

  
  
When he sees the gates, small and shaking with heat in the distance, he almost believes it to be another dream.

“Babe,” Sehun says wildly, hands tightening weakly on Youngho’s thighs. “Youngho-yah.” 

Youngho stirs, and he blinks sleepily, eyes bleary as he searches the horizons. They fill with light when they reach the barrier. “Y-You’ve done it. We’ve made it.” And his arms around Sehun’s neck, they clutch him as tightly as they can manage. 

It is the same as holding water to Sehun’s mouth, the delight it fills him with. He sips at the horizon, and each step forward can’t come soon enough. 

As he carries Youngho on his back through the old, crumbling gates of Varrencarres, Sehun feels a strange chill creep up his spine. He hasn’t felt cold in so long, but that’s what steps through his blood as they walk through the courtyard, the black circles of the Angels marking the way deeper inside the capital city. Sehun swallows over tears as he stares at the marks on the ground. The people...all those lost lives. 

“Don’t think of it too long,” Youngho says, and he has laughter in his voice as it vibrates along the shell of Sehun’s ear. “It will only serve to distract you.” 

Sehun tries to lick his lips, tries to wet his mouth, but everything is so dry. And it all tastes of sand. He can barely breathe without getting it in his chest, without feeling it along his skin. 

“We have to find water,” Sehun says. “If we don’t, we’ll die. We’ll perish where we stand.” 

Youngho sways, side to side. He is already so sick with the heat. Sehun worries for him. He clutches his hands tighter under Youngho’s legs, holds him straighter. 

“Venture inside the castle,” Youngho says. “There will be forgotten pitchers of sealed water. They were well prepared for seige, I’m sure of it.” 

Sehun walks in, walks past the sick black circles on the ground and through the courtyard. He imagines what it must have been like, back when it was thriving. The desert roses, the prickly cacti, wildflowers that must have sprawled along the ground. Now, there is nothing. Nothing but them, and so many ghosts. 

The castle is made of stacked grey shale stone, pretty and imperfect. Sehun believes he might even marvel at it if there was time for such a thing. But he walks right through, his boot heels clicking along the dusty tiled floors of the foyer. The grand staircases. The rooms upon rooms of nothingness. 

“It’s so beautiful,” Youngho says sleepily. 

“Yes, it is,” Sehun says. 

He carries Youngho through the rooms, finds nothing but a pristinely kept seat of a kingdom, everything exactly as the God of Inferno left it. There are rooms of government, books and scrolls of planning and diplomacy. There are letters, so many letters, and his eyes scan over them. Correspondence. From the God of Light. Sehun’s heart jumps. How much did he know of the war when it was transpiring? What side did he come to? They never tell of him coming to aid. They never… 

“What have you found?” Youngho asks, hooking his chin over Sehun’s shoulder before scoffing. “Oh. Letters. Scrolls. Trust you to find the worst of the place.” 

“How are you still able to make fun even in this condition?” Sehun asks, and he turns his back on the letters, heads back to the main room, starts looking through the place for the kitchens, the baths, anything. 

He hurries, but it is not hurried enough because Youngho grows weaker with every moment, and Sehun can feel him slipping through his fingers, dust, the seed-snows of dandelions. 

“I’m tired, but...but I feel as though if I fall asleep once more, I will fall asleep for good,” he says, and he punctuates it with a long yawn. 

Fear grips Sehun by the stomach, climbs back up his throat like vomit. He swallows it, the acid thick in him. 

“Yes. So you must stay awake. Tell me everything you know of this place,” Sehun says. “Tell me all about it.” 

“But you _know_ the stories,” Youngho says, happy, and gods, they are in such trouble.

“Tell me anything, then,” Sehun panics. “Tell me everything you know, love.” 

“ _Love_ ,” Youngho says, voice a chiming bell in Sehun's ear. “I like that, larkling. Call me it again.” 

“Love,” Sehun says. “Love, we need water, don’t we?” 

Youngho hums happily, squeezing Sehun’s neck weakly. He shouldn’t ever be so weak. The muscles that line him, the power that rests inside him—it is horrible to see him fade. Colors left in the sun. Bleached, as unpleasant to touch as it is to look at. 

Sehun continues to search wildly, but even when he finds his way to the kitchens, kicking open cupboards and cellar doors, he can’t manage to find anything at all. 

Dread is welling in his stomach, and it pangs behind his eyes. The joy of finding the capital is long forgotten, and when he sets Youngho down on the floor, he starts to ransack the place, alarmed when he finds it all so...so empty. In his haste, he knocks over a vase, and it clatters to the floor, sending shards of terracotta everywhere. He sweeps them to the side with his feet, tries to ignore the way his eyes hurt. They hurt so very much. 

“Gods,” Sehun prays. “Gods, have mercy on us now. It is our hour of need. Please. It is our hour of need. Have mercy, and spare our souls. Please. _Please._ ” 

But the water basins are dry. The bottles are cracked, water evaporated into the air. There is nothing. They have nothing. Sehun turns back, sees Youngho slumped to the floor. His eyes, they close slowly. 

“Rest,” Youngho says, patting the floor beside him. “Come. You must be so tired, lark. Sit. Rest.” 

Sehun kneels beside him, puts his hand atop Youngho’s. “We can’t,” Sehun says. “We mustn’t.” 

Youngho opens his eyes. Smiles. He sits up slowly, fluidly, like the water himself, and he puts his arms around Sehun’s neck, and Sehun moans. 

“Look at you,” Youngho says. “You’re trembling, little lark.” 

Sehun wishes he could cry, just to relieve the agony behind his eyes, but he doesn’t. He can’t. He begs his body not to obey Youngho’s words, but he gently lays his head against Youngho’s shoulder for a moment, taking rest in the long closes of his eyelids. At the sound of his name, he turns, lets Youngho take his face in his hands. 

“You’ve done well,” he says, and he leans in so slowly that Sehun can barely breathe at all. 

It feels like forevers pass by them in those slim, little seconds as Youngho brings his mouth to Sehun's. 

He kisses Sehun softly, his lips chapped and dry, and Sehun whimpers, tears falling unbidden from the corners of his eyes as they hold each other. It is a chaste kiss, and as quickly as it begins, it is over. Sehun wants to ask for more, but he can’t—he can’t want for anything. Not now. 

Youngho pulls him down, down to the dust-covered floor, cool under their knees, and then, their bodies as they lie side by side. 

“Rest with me, larkling,” Youngho says. 

“We can’t,” Sehun says, and he brushes the tears away from his cheeks. “Youngho, you said—” 

“Quiet now,” Youngho orders. “I know what I said. Just a quick rest, okay, lark? I promise I’ll wake soon.” 

He won’t, Sehun knows. He knows this is the end. It is a pretty, terrible end, here in the middle of such a lovely, shadowy place. They have come so far, gotten to the middle of something endless. Is there a middle? Can there ever be a middle of something that has no beginning and no end? 

He can taste death on a dry tongue. He cannot cry any longer, but he wishes with all his heart to do so. It is tragedy, thick in the air. He wished great things for them. Came to love this man, cherish him, and here, they end. He wants to lose himself in it, in the pitiful sadness, but when Youngho calls his name, his eyes flick back open. 

“Sehun,” Youngho says sleepily. “Have I told you of the Bichwood horses?” 

“No,” Sehun says. “No, you haven’t.” 

“Every day during the festivals, at high noon,” Youngho says, a tired wave of his hand, “there is a parade of the most majestic horses you’ve ever seen, all black with wings of gold. The Bichwood horses. They fly, circling in the sky. I want to see them again.” 

“I—” Sehun starts, but the sleep is taking him, dragging him off. 

He wants to promise, but he can’t. 

“Don’t think any longer, my sweet,” Youngho says, and Sehun watches his eyes shut. “Just rest.” 

Sehun is so tired. He could do with a rest.  
  


♔

  
  
He jolts awake, a throbbing pain all the way through him.

 _What have I done?_

He scrambles up as fast he can manage, looks around, tries to get his bearings. He can barely remember where they are, what happened. And then he looks to Youngho. He is a picked flower, parched, the petals of him all shriveled to nothing. _No_ , Sehun thinks. _Not yet._

“Youngho,” Sehun says, and he prods at him. “Come, Youngho. There is water here, I know it. We will find it.” 

But Youngho does not respond. 

His body is still, incredibly rigid and still, and no matter how much Sehun shakes him, no matter how loudly he calls his name...he will not wake. Harder, faster, he shakes him, but there is no answer. And he tries. Tries. Tries. _Do not let it be true_ , he thinks. _Just another trick of the eyes._

“Youngho,” Sehun fruitlessly cries, but there is still no answer. “Please. Love. Please.” 

He is dying. Right in Sehun’s hands. 

“Don’t,” Sehun cries again, not even enough water in him to even make tears, and he lays his body on Youngho’s, lays himself flat across Youngho’s chest. “Don’t leave me, my love. I’m—I will never live without you. I can’t, now that I know what it is to love you.” 

He laces his fingers with Youngho’s, the rigidity held his palm enough to make Sehun feel as though he is truly alone. 

“I’ve yet to tell you,” he cries. “I’ve yet to show you how I truly feel. Don’t go, before I can tell you. It would be such a waste. Such a great waste. Please don’t leave me. Not yet.” 

But _yet_ arrives, does not listen to his pleas. 

Sehun sobs brokenly over Youngho’s body, the gentle pushing and pulling of his chest the only sign that he hasn’t yet passed. He sleeps, drifts between living and dead, and if Sehun was stronger, if he was more able, he would manage to get to his feet. He would manage to find Youngho even a spit of water. Would take it in his mouth only to pass it to him from his own lips. 

Sehun is rapidly losing the energy to keep his eyes open, and the world is so warm around him. It was too much. They took on more than they could handle. And now, it is all over. 

He blinks slowly, slower still, and he smiles as he thinks about what awaits them at the end. Youngho and he, hand in hand, and maybe, just maybe, if he was lucky enough, they could again find love in each other. Feasting at the same table, drinking from the same cup. Forever. 

A delightful feeling spirals through him as he shuts his eyes, dreaming of eternity. It is pure and utter comfort, the most delicious, addictive feeling of calm.  
  


♔

  
  
He has no idea how long it is before he wakes once more, hovering on the edge of forgetful, and he shields his eyes against the bright white sun to see—an angel. An angel of gold.

“Reach out,” the beautiful figure tells him, hand outstretched to Sehun. “Reach out to me, and take my hand.” 

It is a king bidding him forward, Sehun knows, and yes, perhaps it is time to return from whence he came, laid low under the loam, held high in the heavens, sitting around the King’s Table, a choir to welcome him home. 

There is a quivering golden ghost wavering in the heat of the desert, something from the fairy tales Junmyeon used to tell him, and Sehun stretches out closer towards him, tries with all his might to close the breath of space. His fingers extend, and he tenses his core of muscles as he stretches, and once he finally makes contact, finally touches the angel of the desert, he is swirling in a pool of stars. Black, blue, and, oh. _Gold_.  
  


♔

  
  
The world is dense with magic, and it glitters along him, surrounds him, arms engulfing him in a shining embrace. He is tumbling, and he has no control over his body. He speaks to his limbs, but they do not respond. There is a pleasure in it, though. A happiness. The knowledge of rest. Dreams within dreams. Reality and its chaotic mirror. Books stack up along his bones, and their pages are filled with nothing, but hidden in cracks of the spine, where the papers are sewn together, there is everything. Words and colors. Ties of silk, braided around each other. Twisting. Choral forevers. Chiming.

_It is the feeling of slipping your fingers between those of another. Links of a chain. Metal of an impossible strength, cast from fires too hot to imagine. Billowing smoke, blue and red, but you can hold it in the palm of your hand, fluttering wings of a butterfly. Gardens in bloom, the soil soaking up water and love. There is cool tile under your bare feet, and you slip into something pretty, smooth, soft, and bright. You fall to your knees, and you bow before a king you don’t know. Birds in the sky herald his homecoming, and he has brought you there too, a gift, yet a servant._

_Orange flames, nine in number. You breathe against them, and you will swallow light. It sits in your stomach. Is it as beautiful as you hoped it would be? No. It is better. You can’t even taste the ash._

_The wings of an eagle bring you to those waving emerald fields, the fruits long sour after a year in the sun. Nothing is correct. Nothing as you remember it. Sick laughter and the snapping of a tree branch. Watch as the tree splits in half, splintering down the trunk. Watch. Watch the earth sink into a pit, the maw of the world open and hungry._

_You are kept, in the hands of a giant, larger even than seas and sky. When he kisses your lips, you taste the oils of roses. Roses, and then sticky black tar. The only word you know is his name. The only thing you know to do is beg._

He is falling, falling. He hears someone calling for him, someone familiar and dear. But who is he? Can he even remember what he’s named? Remember, he tells himself. Please, please. Remember. _You mustn't forget._  
  


♔

  
  
“Sehun-ah.”

He tries to open his eyes because he knows the voice, and now, he remembers his name. He remembers what he’s to do. He is twenty-four summers old. He is on his first pilgrimage. He is to journey to the Bichwood. It took him one month to fall in love with Seo Youngho, or maybe even less time than that. They held hands through the desert, withering away to nothing as they tried to make it to the Dread Field. They managed to get all the way to the capital city, the empty halls of Varrencarres where he assumed they’d die. And then…

Then—  
  


♔

  
  
Days pass, but Sehun isn’t privy to such information. Only when he finally wakes does he realize where he’s been brought.

The desert long behind them, he sits up in the bed he’s been tucked into, and he looks around. It is a cabin made from large trunks of a tree, the floor split wood and shining. The bed is frame is wooden, made from hand rather than poured like the metal frames he’s seen in richer, more fanciful places. The pillows are down, he’s sure of it, and the blanket is weaved, knitted, and he clutches it close to him. The room smells like flowers, subtle but still. 

_Where am I? And what’s happened to me?_

“Lark.” 

Sehun whips his head to the side, and he sees Youngho smiling back at him, dark hair all brushed back and clean, lips red and plush, life surging through him. 

“My—”

“I haven’t left you yet,” Youngho says. “I promised that I’d get you to the capital, didn’t I? Have you ever known me to break a promise?” 

Sehun feels tears spring to his eyes, unbidden, and he leaps from the bed, crossing the room to throw himself into an embrace with Youngho. He feels cool, his body strong, and gods, how long has he been asleep? How long have they been...wherever they are? 

"You're holding me awfully tight for someone who said they _trusted_ me," Youngho says. 

"A foolish mistake," Sehun tells him, tears spilling down his face. "I won't make it again." 

Youngho laughs as they cling to each other like they are their only family, but that is fine with him: Sehun has long since decided that his favorite kind of family is the type you find along the winding road. There will be time for questions, and hopefully, there will be time for answers, Sehun thinks, but for now, they have each other, and that seems to be enough.  
  


♔

  
  
Sehun rests more, another three suns before Youngho tells him what happened in the lost capital of Varrencarres.

“You mustn’t get upset,” Youngho says, and he gently dabs a cold rag against Sehun’s forehead, wiping away sweat. “They said that you were in much worse condition than I was.” 

It all makes little sense to Sehun—wasn’t Youngho on his back? Wasn’t it Youngho’s moans of pain in his ear? Wasn’t it Youngho who was near death? Wasn’t it Youngho who was leading him to the table? 

It matters not, he decides. Both he and Youngho are well now, and that is what’s most important. 

“I won’t get upset,” Sehun promises. “What happened?”

Just then, there is a knock at the door, the only room he knows in such a place. 

“Come in,” Youngho chimes. 

The angel of gold enters, his face sharp and clear now that Sehun is healthful, and it is immediately evident to him now, now that he can see his face. He is handsome like worlds beyond worlds, draped in white and gold, skin glowing like the light moves through him too. 

“My lord,” Sehun says. “My lord, I—”

The angel smiles, bows his head. “You can do away with the formalities. Jongin will suffice.” 

Sehun scrambles to sit up, to stand, to bow back to him, but Youngho pushes him back by his shoulders. 

“Don’t get up,” Jongin says. “Please, rest. You have been through much.” He only steps aside a bit, but within the blink of an eye, a second man appears beside him, shining black hair and a dimpled smile. “Please, let me introduce you to our gracious host.” 

Jongin holds his hand out, gestures to the second man who bows his head gently. 

“Yixing,” he offers. “Well met. And welcome to the commune called Gochidana.”  
  


♔

  
  
The forest of Gochidana has always been mysterious. The maps knew it well, the edges defined and sharp, but the scholars were never able to make it through the deep reeded exterior. What mysteries does the forest hold, time wondered? What tales of greatness and of pain? What songs would the wood sing?

Sehun watches Yixing with careful eyes. 

“I mean you no harm,” Yixing says, hands held up in acquiescence. 

“People who seek to do harm,” Sehun says, “they always say something of the sort.” 

He throws his head back on a laugh, steps forward until he’s sat next to Sehun on the bed. “If they were smart, then they wouldn’t say it anymore, would they?”

“I don’t know whether you’re smart or not,” Sehun says, arms folded. 

“Ah. Haven’t yet sussed me out, little one?” Yixing smiles. 

Sehun sits a little farther back, stares at Yixing with squinted eyes. 

“I am not little.”

“Each and every one of us is little if you look from far enough away.” 

Sehun falls quiet for the moment, watches Yixing watch him. 

“Why don’t you let yourself be known?” Sehun asks. “If we’re all so small.” 

Yixing looks down at his hands, smiles sadly at them like he knows time itself and all its secrets. 

“Are the rumors true, then? Can you really heal?” Sehun asks, unable to keep the shock from his voice. 

“It requires much work. Concentration. Quiet now, let me feel you,” Yixing says, and he sets his hand on Sehun’s heart. “Oh, young one. You are weak with effort. You kept your friend living for much longer than any other man could have.” 

Sehun feels heat rise to his face. Surely, anyone else could have done the same. “I—” 

“No talking,” Yixing smiles. “Let me work. Questions after.” 

“Alright,” Sehun says, and he sticks out his hand for Yixing to take. 

Yixing shuts his eyes, and Sehun mirrors him. For a moment, he feels nothing, just the warmth of Yixing’s hand in his, and then— _oh_ , he thinks. _Maybe he is a god._

He’s never felt magic within him before, but it is a strange, pleasant feeling, like bubbling through his blood, a relaxing of his muscles. He sinks back into the bed as Yixing squeezes his hand tight. It is as though he’s hovering on the cliff of sleep, the happy feeling of conscious unconscious, and by the time Yixing lets his hand go, he is overwhelmed by a sense of contentment. 

“That is all I can offer you today,” Yixing says. “There are plenty here who require my aid.” 

“I’m fine,” Sehun says, “I swear it.” 

“You stretch yourself too thin, and there is no coming back from it,” Yixing says, and he pats Sehun's hand. “This is the time to rest.” 

“But the pilgri—” 

“The pilgrimage will wait, little one,” Yixing says, and he brushes the hair away from Sehun’s forehead. “Your dedication is admirable. And it will serve you well in the future.” 

Yixing smooths the sides of his robe free of wrinkles as he stands to leave, and Sehun feels like he’s got more queries than answers now, constantly on the outside looking in. 

“Thank you,” he says all the same, because Yixing offers him life in the face of death, and that is no small feat, no matter how far you step back. 

“You need not thank me,” Yixing says with a tip of his head. “Rest now.” 

And Sehun obeys him.  
  


♔

  
  
It isn’t often that Youngho leaves his side, and that’s what makes his silence all the more infuriating.

“Tell me,” Sehun orders. “Tell me, or I’ll gut you like a fish.” 

“With what blade, lark?” Youngho smiles, folding his arm. 

“I’ll find a blade,” Sehun says, “and I’ll gut you like a fish.” 

Youngho laughs, lies next to Sehun on the bed and rearranges them both, pulls Sehun to rest in the cradle of his body. It is—it’s the most affection Sehun’s seen since they got to this place, and it settles him nicely. 

“I’ll answer all your questions,” Youngho says. “Ask them slowly, so that I might do it well.” 

“Who is he?” 

“He is a god, I suppose,” Youngho sighs. 

“And his powers are to heal?” 

“Yes,” Youngho says, and he taps Sehun on the nose. “As he’s done with you, little lark.” 

Sehun scrunches his face. “How long has Jongin been here?” He looks into Youngho’s eyes. “Was it since—” 

“It seems as though many tales have been spun by bored historians,” Youngho says. “When Chanyeol reached Varrencarres under that fateful sun, there wasn’t anything left to burn.” 

“Don’t speak in riddles. Tell me what you mean.” 

“Slowly,” Youngho says, “slowly, in the sennights preparing for the invasion, Jongin moved everyone. Healed them all well enough to be leaped, with the secret one he sheltered. With Yixing.” 

“The capital was empty?” Sehun asks. 

“Not just the capital,” Youngho says. “The deserts were empty. The Dread Field. It was as bare as the world was when it was new. There wasn’t a soul left in the kingdom. They’d all moved into the shielded forest. A magic barrier to keep them safe. An oasis.” 

“Then...the Angels?” Sehun asks. 

“Bales of hay,” Youngho laughs. “They burned into the sky, white, leaving only charred circles of black on the stone.” 

“What about the screams?” Sehun says. “Everyone says the screams—” 

“Sounded like a chorus,” Youngho says. “Sounds pretty, doesn’t it? Sounds like something they’d write, doesn’t it? They do love to make up tales from the ideas they pulled from the air.” 

Sehun throws his arm across Youngho’s middle, buries his face into Youngho’s chest. He smells good, like clean cotton and fruit. He still has so many questions.

“How long have we been here?” Sehun asks. “How much time have we lost?” 

“It has been a sennight,” Youngho says. “We’ve lost only seven suns.” 

Sehun breathes out. _A sennight._ It could be worse. If they get back on the road within another couple suns, then— 

“I see you thinking,” Youngho says, tracing a finger along Sehun’s brow. “You must stop that.” 

“The pilgrimage demands us—” 

“The pilgrimage demands you make it out alive,” Youngho says. “If we arrive late Sixth, even Seventh...it does not matter. All that matters is that we’ve arrived.” 

“But you wanted to see the horses,” Sehun pouts. 

“I’ve seen the horses,” Youngho says, and he rakes his fingers through Sehun’s hair, petting him softly. “I’ve never seen a person I care for as deeply as you in such a condition. So I’d rather you be healed, larkling. Is that fair?” 

Sehun smiles to himself, scoots closer to Youngho’s body. “Fair,” he says, and he closes his eyes, ready for another nap.  
  


♔

  
  
They feed him a bland soup, some type of stock, only just salted and peppered, thick with water weeds. It isn’t bad, of course—nothing tastes bad after what they’ve been through. Still, he would be lying if he said he didn’t yearn for something a bit...a bit more.

Youngho looks at him with apologetic eyes, seems to sympathize. 

“Surely, they’ll let you go soon,” Youngho says. 

Youngho stays through the night sometimes in Sehun’s room, but as Sehun improves rapidly thanks to Yixing’s power, Sehun convinces him more and more to stay elsewhere. To journey. To explore. And Youngho’s never been one to turn down an adventure. 

Sehun is near pulling his hair out in the small little room, and Youngho is his only solace. He bursts into the room, goes to the window, and throws it open, lets the wind blow through the stale room. Sehun already feels better, just him and the air, and he sighs happily. He can smell the forest, now, and there’s so much—the flora, fauna, the people. Cooking, washing, living. He wants to see it desperately. 

“They have so many different kinds of dice,” Youngho says, pulling the little cubes from his pockets. “Look. Jade.” Just as he said, Youngho holds three small cubes of green stone, and dots are carved into the sides. 

Youngho has tried his best to keep Sehun busy, and the games help. 

“I only had soup,” Sehun says. “ _Again._ ” 

Youngho sighs as if a perturbed mother. “Are you doing as they say, lark? Are you resting well?” 

“Yes, of course, I am,” Sehun says. “Even if there was anything to do besides resting here, which, by the by, there isn’t, some of us follow all the rules to the letter.” 

“Do you know the implications that you level at me?” Youngho says, narrowing his eyes. “Fine then, I suppose you aren’t in need of…” 

And from his pocket, he pulls small golden wrappers, and Sehun knows what’s inside: the dried plum candy that he’s been craving. They’re sold cheaply here, Youngho’s told him, and Sehun wants to see for himself. Moreover, though, he wants them now. 

“Pass them over, then,” Sehun says. 

“Shouldn’t we make it more interesting?” Youngho smiles. “If you win, I’ll give you them.” 

“And if I lose?” Sehun says. 

“Then I get them all to myself,” Youngho says. 

Sehun furrows his brow and grabs the dice. 

“Your fighting spirit needs no healing, does it?” Youngho says, and he pokes Sehun in the side as he shakes the dice in his cupped hands. 

Sehun ignores him as he throws the dice over the bedside table, dancing until they settle on a one, a two, and a three. 

“ _Gods_ ,” he curses. “Fine. Go on, then.” 

Youngho grins as he cups the dice in his hands, and he throws them the same way that Sehun did. One. One. One. He throws his head back, and he laughs as Sehun whoops loudly, quickly grabbing the candy from Youngho’s side of the bed. 

“I thought you said you were good at dice,” Sehun says, and he gingerly unwraps one of the plum candies, sighing happily. 

“I am, lark,” Youngho says, smiling. He nods at Sehun’s hands. “Eat your sweets. You’ve earned them, fair and square.”  
  


♔

  
  
Yixing always comes in the morning, and he places his hand in Sehun’s. He always looks a bit weaker when he leaves than when he enters, and Sehun wonders about it. But Yixing is honest and true, tells Sehun whatever he wants to know.

“In order to pull the hurt from you, it must go somewhere,” Yixing says. “It could go to the forest, or it goes to me.” 

“Then I will keep it,” Sehun says, trying to wrestle his hand away from Yixing, but his grip is iron-clad. 

“You won’t,” Yixing says. “I have done this many times, young one. Do not worry for me.” 

When he stands from the bed, leeching the pain away from Sehun, he wipes sweat from Sehun’s forehead with a gentle hand. 

“Tomorrow,” Yixing says. “I believe you will be totally healed by then.” 

“I am in perfect health today,” Sehun says, and he attempts to stand, only to be pushed back to the bed by Yixing’s hand on his shoulder. “My lord.” 

“I’m no one’s lord,” Yixing smiles. “Rest. Tomorrow, you may explore with your friend.” 

Sehun smiles despite himself, and he thinks of getting to walk through the forest. He’s been dreaming of it, getting to experience all of the beauty that Youngho’s spoke of. He’s regretful that it’s taken him so long to recover. 

“Jongin and I will be away for a while,” Yixing says. “So we’ve prepared a special place for you both. In the meantime.” 

“Oh,” Sehun says, and he bends himself in half in bed. “Thank you.” 

“No thanks necessary. Youngho has been staying there, so he will show you to it,” Yixing says with a small smile, not enough to make his dimple pronounce itself. “Jongin and I will be back within the sennight, I believe.” 

“Where are you go—forgive me, I’m sure it is...sensitive information,” Sehun says. 

“No, you may ask,” Yixing says. 

“Where will you be going?” 

“First, to Hartcaster,” Yixing says. “I may not call myself a god, but the people still make a pilgrimage to me anyway.” He smiles sadly, stares down at his clasped hands. 

“Are they all sickly?” He sits up straighter in bed. “Do they all require healing?” 

“Not all,” he says. “But some.” 

“And then? What happens after Hartcaster?” 

“Jongin holds my hand,” Yixing says, “and he takes me to wherever I am needed most. I can feel where the pain rests.” 

Sehun feels it is a great tragedy. The loneliness must be overwhelming, sitting on his heart. Does he flit from world to world, kingdom to kingdom, stealing the agony meant for others? Is the only one he truly knows Jongin? Is the only time he gets to hold someone’s hand when he takes the pain from them, keeps it within himself? 

“Do not wear such a look of sadness,” Yixing says, and he touches Sehun’s cheek warmly. “It is what I was born to do, little one.” 

“Do you not tire?” Sehun asks. 

“Everyone tires.” 

He turns from the room, and Sehun’s heart aches for him. What he wouldn’t give to be able to touch him in return, take some of that hurt away. 

“Sehun.” 

He looks up, and Yixing is looking back at him, smiling happily now. “Rest well. When we return, I look forward to seeing you. And do remember, I hate to be disappointed.” 

Sehun smiles back, something he hopes says _I’d never disappoint you._  
  


♔

  
  
When day breaks through his window, the curtain pulled wide, Sehun wakes with a smile already painted on his face.

He gets out of the bed that he’s known for what seems like an eternity, quickly ties together his robes, feet shoved into his boots, and he exits what seems to be the designated infirmary. There are rooms and rooms just like the ones he was in, simply built but comfortable. He walks through the long hall, opens the door. 

His first steps in the sunlight after his long rehabilitation are kept close to his heart, and he holds his hand to his eyes against it as he looks to the treetops, the birds skimming along the skyline. He can see a ripple in the magic, the barrier that keeps the commune hidden, its secrets and its mysteries kept safe. 

The day is warm around him, and he breathes in deeply, the air clean and fresh. He shuts his eyes, feels the light sink into him, feels the lost time chip away. 

Against all odds, they have made it. 

He looks around him, wonders where Youngho possibly could have gone. He was so difficult to send away in the evenings, always there when Sehun woke in the mornings. They had many a conversation about it, though _conversation_ might be a generous way to put it. He simply had no need for constant care, but Youngho usually sat by his bedside anyway. And much as he wanted to put a stop to it, Sehun loved it. Loved every second of it. 

There are people mulling about when he walks towards the center of the commune, mostly in dresses, painted with intricate designs, their feet in simple sandals. They wear their hair up off their necks in the moist heat of the forest, and they all glow, their skin shining and healthful. He walks around them, careful, keeping his hands clasped at his stomach and his head low. He doesn’t know the customs, the shows of respect. He wouldn’t want to offend, not after Jongin and Yixing have been so kind to him. To the both of them, in truth. 

Still, he wants to find Youngho, wants to tell him the good news—he’s finally free. 

A young mother and her son approach, walking down one of the many winding paths. She balances a basket on her head, one hand holding it steady, the other holding her son’s hand. She is beautiful, with black hair and thick brows, a little smile on her face as she looks down at her son. They both have the same happy red cheeks, and Sehun bows deeply before them as the pass. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I was wondering if you might be able to help me.” 

She nods, her son tucked behind the skirt of her dress to hide. 

“There is a visitor here,” Sehun says. “He is a bit taller than I. Dark hair and eyes. Clear skin. He is slender, but muscled. He’s—” 

“Is he quite handsome?” she asks with a grin. Sehun stares at the dirt path for a moment before nodding at her. “Yes, we all know of Youngho.” 

“Oh,” Sehun says, relieved. “Good...that’s good. I was just wondering if maybe you knew where he was?” 

“You must be Sehun,” she says, and she tips her head a bit, as much of a bow as she can give amidst her balancing act. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” 

“And you,” he says, bowing deeply again. 

“You’ll find Youngho by the river,” she says with a smile. “He’s always by the river these days.” 

“Thank you,” Sehun says, bowing once more. 

Her laughter carries him off, listening closely for the sound of the water.  
  


♔

  
  
When Sehun approaches, the water shimmering as if diamonds in the sun, Youngho is resting on the bank. His back looks broad, and he wears no coverings, skin dewy with sweat, or maybe water. Youngho’s hair looks wet as Sehun gets closer, and he resists the intense urge to stroke his hands through it.

A branch snaps under his foot, and Sehun pauses. Youngho surely heard it, but he does not turn, lets Sehun sit next to him, all in quiet. 

Youngho turns his head, looks at Sehun as if he’s dreaming. 

“I’m so happy you’re finally here,” he says. “I want to show you everything.”  
  


♔

  
  
The commune’s dirt roads are winding, but it seems as though they manage to walk down every single one. Sehun meets almost everyone, from the smallest to the largest, youngest to oldest, and Youngho has somehow managed to learn all their names in the short time they’ve been a part of the community.

“They’re all very kind,” Youngho says. “They’re a generous people.” 

Surely, it is an effect of their lords, but Sehun keeps his mouth shut, only watches as Youngho interacts with the people as if he was born here, lived all his life here. He has that talent, to morph and shift into something that feels familiar, seems impossibly dear to you. But none of them know him as Sehun knows him. None of them love him as Sehun loves him. And that’s something he takes great pride in. 

He finds the woman who makes the plum candies, and he shakes her hand, delighted when she is an old wrinkled grandmother with a toothy smile who hands him a fistful at no charge, simply because she likes the look of him. 

“Don’t you see?” Youngho says, an elbow in Sehun’s side. “They love you already.” 

Sehun watches him, feels the world shifting into place underneath them. Youngho has light of worlds unknown inside him, and Sehun—he’s only ever wanted one day in the sun.  
  


♔

  
  
Suppers are served as one, and the entire commune gathers in the meeting house, where the business and celebrations and breaking of fast is to be done. There is a large stove at the center of the room, and the fire rages red, heating the truly massive pan over top. It’s bigger than he is, longer than him, he thinks, if he were to stretch out alongside it. No wonder they make dinners together.

“It’s delicious,” Youngho nods, as the group of cooks stir at the pan with giant wooden spatulas. “The spices they used are like none other. They harvest it from a flower that’s only grown within the hidden forest.” 

It smells divine, earthy and warm with the heat, and as they stir at the yellow rice, thick with spiced sausage and whole shrimp and stewed tomatoes, the scent makes Sehun’s mouth water. Watching as the men and women work together at the pan, smiling and joking and laughing with one another—Sehun finds himself loving Gochidana and their ways, the way they treat each other. The love, an undercurrent to everything they do. 

The rice dish is divided into smaller bowls, and Youngho taps him on the shoulder when it’s time for their table to be served. 

“Go on,” Youngho says, gesturing to the rest of their table. “We’re waiting.” 

Sehun stands, bows before and after he’s handed their allotment, a heavenly bowl decorated with as many shrimp, clams, and mussels as he’s ever seen in his life. Slices of lemon are decked around the edge of the bowl, and once he’s set it down in the center of all of them, Youngho stands and squeezes the juice over top before serving Sehun a plate first. 

Sehun waits until everyone at the table has a plate, but they watch him carefully. Sehun turns to Youngho.

“Eat,” Youngho says. “You’re the guest.” 

“Aren’t you a guest as well?” Sehun asks, eyebrow cocked in confusion. 

“Yes, but they’ve accepted me as one of their own,” Youngho says proudly. “It’s polite to eat before them. So go on. Taste it.” 

Sehun lifts his spoon to his mouth, and the taste—he’s embarrassed to say that he moans, but his genuine reaction seems to delight the communers. They pat him on the back, cheer for him, and his glass is poured full of red wine as they all tuck in, talking amongst themselves as they eat. 

“It’s custom,” Youngho says, nodding at the full glass. “It’s impolite to turn it down.” 

Youngho might be lying, but Sehun has never called his bluff yet. _Why begin now?_

So Sehun lifts the glass, toasts to them, and then knocks back a sip.  
  


♔

  
  
Sehun didn’t mean to drink so much or so fast.

It’s easy to get lost in the beautiful, meandering way Youngho tells his stories, the way he speaks like the winds move through him. He laughs too much, his cheeks ache with the smiling that he does. People always join their table because Youngho makes friends easily, but Sehun finds that Youngho’s eyes never leave his, not even as Youngho refills his glass with the mulled wine the first or second or third time. 

The anise sticks in his mouth, and it’s silly, he’s a drunken fool for even thinking it, but he wants to taste Youngho to see if he tastes the way he looks like he might: like vanilla and ginger and rich, sweet chocolate. 

When the meeting house is empty, when all the rest have gone, Youngho leans across the table, smile like a tease. 

“Are you drunk, lark?” Youngho asks. 

“I fear I might be,” Sehun says, and he licks his lips, suddenly parched. 

“My plan is working, then,” Youngho says, and he tangles their hands together. 

“What plan is this?” Sehun asks, and the alcohol is swimming in him. He feels so bold, he wants to stand up and take Youngho in his arms. Kiss him senseless. Wrap them in covers until they share each other’s warmth. 

“Just this,” Youngho says, and he nods down to their hands. 

“You wanted to hold my hand?” Sehun says even as his stomach flares. “You hold my hand nearly every sun.” 

“Not this way,” Youngho says, and he strokes his thumb along Sehun’s. The air charges so quickly that Sehun thinks he may faint from the fog of it. “Not when you’re drunk, and you’ll tell me your secrets. About how you feel.” 

_How you feel._

How _does_ he feel? He feels like his skin might blister from the heat, the untapped lust that lays within him. He feels like Youngho’s lips are the Last Breath, the last water for stadions and stadions. He feels like maybe he’s willing to risk Youngho shunning him, rejecting him with a curse, if only for the chance at his feelings being shared. 

“H-How’s that?” Sehun says, barely breathing. 

“You look at me like you want to take me, larkling,” Youngho says. “So tell me, would you like to?” 

“Like to what?” Sehun asks. 

“Take me,” Youngho says. 

Sehun barely hears himself answer, but when Youngho’s face splits into a beautiful, mischievous smile, he knows he’s done for.  
  


♔

  
  
The moon is the only thing that lights their walk back to the cabin for the evening. Sehun can feel his hand sweating in Youngho’s as they walk. The alcohol has simmered off as they whispered to each other, and now, only nerves remain, thrumming with heat in his veins.

Gochidana reminds him of Leefside the way it overflows with flora, the forest alive and healthful. Sehun thinks back to Leefside, to his first night spent in Youngho’s bed. He thinks back to the way he clung to Youngho’s back, the way he snaked out of the bed without wanting to be caught. 

It wasn’t too long ago, Sehun thinks. 

But when they sneak up to their room, wooden steps creaking under their combined weight, it occurs to Sehun how dramatically everything has changed when Youngho holds him by the shoulders and pushes him against the door. 

“May I share a secret, little lark?” Youngho asks. 

Sehun can barely breathe with Youngho so close to him, so dominating in his space, but he manages to gasp a _yes._

“I have wanted to kiss you since the very moment I saw you,” Youngho says. 

“Please,” Sehun begs, because he feels Youngho sees him, sees the deepest parts of him. All those desires, spread soft against his skin. 

Youngho does not make him wait long, and the kiss they share is chaste. It reminds Sehun so much of his first kiss, that boy with the golden eyes that he met when he was so young. But that feeling of purity, of innocent first love, it is not to last. 

Sehun groans as Youngho licks along his lips, hands careful at Sehun’s waist. It is better than dreams, better than all his many reveries. Sehun doesn’t know what to do with himself, only lets himself be kissed, yields to Youngho’s tongue against his own, and moans as he relishes in the feeling. It is novel in its immediacy, the way his body responds, and he thought he would know what to do, but he doesn’t. He lets himself be led. Lets himself be taken. 

They kiss for longer than Sehun knows, for what feels like forever. He is broken down and rebuilt in the span of it, suns rising and setting and rising once more, their mouths moving over each other’s, Youngho’s hand on his neck. And it is because they have waited so very long, gone through so very much, that it feels so perfect, so delicious all through the length of his body. Nothing has ever been so worth the wait. 

Youngho presses him into the door harder, their bodies flush against one another, and their robes do little to disguise their arousal. Sehun moans wantonly as Youngho moves his hips, pushes in against Sehun. 

Lips against Sehun’s ear, he licks along the lobe of Sehun’s ear, sending a shudder through him. “Have you dreamt of this moment as long as I have, my little larkling?” And Sehun tangles his hands in Youngho’s robes, desperate for more. 

“Yes,” Sehun says, honest in this as he is in everything. “Gods, _yes_.” 

“Have you thought of me at night?” Youngho asks, and he trails clever fingers down Sehun’s neck, following them with wet kisses, open-mouthed. “Did you think about the ways I could have you?” 

Sehun keens, the smallest noises slipping from between his lips as he uselessly tries to drag Youngho closer to him, so close and so desperate that he lifts his leg, hooks it around Youngho’s back. 

“Look at yourself,” Youngho whispers, and the words move along Sehun’s skin. “Look how _desperate_ you’ve gotten.” 

He cannot even deny it, the way he grinds his hips up against Youngho’s, practically a cat in heat the way he whines for more. 

“Tell me, lark,” Youngho says, a kiss at the hollow of Sehun’s throat. “Has anyone had you before?” 

Youngho must know the answer, and yet he asks simply because he must want to hear Sehun say the words. Sehun swallows over his lust, eyes bleary with tears. “No. No one...I’ve never—” 

Youngho pulls back, grinning before he takes Sehun in another kiss, a hand firm on the back of Sehun’s neck. It is fierce, delicious, and Sehun groans, fingers gripping at Youngho’s shoulders. 

“Then I will be gentle with you, my little lark,” Youngho says, lips against Sehun’s. “And in turn, you must swear to all your gods to be gentle with me.” 

“I swear it,” Sehun says. 

“By who?” Youngho teases, and his hands skim down Sehun’s side, working their way between their bodies. “Who do you swear to, little lark?” 

“I swear to them all,” Sehun cries, and Youngho pulls at the ties of Sehun’s robe, lets it slip off Sehun’s shoulder. “Please, I swear.” 

Youngho moves Sehun’s chemise to the side, plants kiss after kiss against Sehun’s bared skin, and he lets them all bloom as he pulls at the ties. 

“Hands up,” Youngho says, and he moves Sehun’s hands by the wrists, places them over Sehun’s head. “Keep them there, babe. Do as I say, won’t you?” 

“Yes,” Sehun breathes, barely able to think, let alone speak. “Yes, I’ll obey.” 

“So good for me,” Youngho says, and he pulls Sehun’s chemise up to bare his stomach. Sehun tenses, the muscles rippling as Youngho brushes his fingertips over him. “There has never been a boy as beautiful as you.” 

Sehun feels the heat rush to his face, the blush pink enough that even he can spy it on his cheeks. 

Youngho lifts the undershirt off him, up over his arms, and quickly, he strips himself down to match. Sehun dutifully holds his hands up, crossed at the wrist, as Youngho pulls the ties of his robe, letting it fall to the floor around them, before he pulls his own chemise from him. Sehun stands there, desperate to touch, but he shifts from foot to foot, sighing as he watches Youngho stroke a hand across his stomach. 

“Do you like the way I look, lark?” Youngho teases, fingers playing at the hem of his britches. “Does it please you?” 

“Yes,” he answers.

“That is very good to hear,” Youngho says softly, eyes drifting across Sehun’s skin so purposefully that Sehun can almost feel the phantom touch. “Because I...I am so very pleased by you.” 

Sehun holds himself so very carefully against the door, and he wants to yelp, wants to stretch forward and take Youngho in his arms. But he was commanded, and if he’s learned anything in their time together, it’s that he’d do well to follow commands. 

Youngho takes pity on him, closes the stadia-long gap between them when he plasters his body against Sehun’s. When the skin of their chests meet, they both gasp in unison, and Sehun bites his lip over the feeling. Youngho presses kisses up the slope of Sehun’s neck, and it must be particularly erogenous. Either that, or Youngho is just skilled at pulling him to the brink of his arousal. 

It isn’t he who moves his hands, but Youngho who takes Sehun’s hands in his, directs them to his waist as he kisses the life out of Sehun, makes him gasp and shake and _moan_. 

“Shall I bring you to the bed?” Youngho asks. “Should I spread you across it?” 

“Yes,” Sehun whimpers. “Yes, please.” 

“You know all the right things to say to me,” he says. “I’m always inclined to give good boys what they desire when they ask nicely.” 

Sehun absently pushes his hips into Youngho’s, whining high in his throat. 

“Have you forgotten all your words?” Youngho teases. “So soon?” 

“Quiet,” Sehun whines. “Don’t make fun.” 

“Ah, but...but you are so pretty,” Youngho says. “And I’ve finally got you. Now, I get to have my fun with you.” 

Sehun bites across a whimper, lets it swell in his mouth as Youngho runs his hands up and down Sehun’s body. He pulls at Sehun’s nipples, makes them stiff under his hands before he leans down, gently flicks his tongue across one. 

He can’t control the way his body bucks, and he tries his best to curtail it, but he can’t, certainly not when Youngho laps at it, the suction of his lips almost too much to bear. 

Youngho smiles against Sehun’s skin as he runs a hand down Sehun’s stomach, fingers slipping across Sehun’s hard length. 

“Is this all it takes?” Youngho asks. “Just a bit of play, and you’re hard enough to spend?” 

Hot shame sits across the hair on his forearms, goosebumps sprouting up as Youngho manipulates him, teases him, pulls at the ties of his pants before shoving them down his legs, leaving Sehun bare before him. 

It isn’t the first time that Youngho has seen him naked, and it isn’t the first time that Sehun feels like he should hide himself away, take back the shield of clothes before Youngho sees something he shouldn’t, written across Sehun’s skin like ink.

“Don’t shield yourself from me,” Youngho says, and his hand skims across Sehun’s stomach, lower and lower. “Let me touch you. Look my fill.” 

He makes himself stand to his full height, tells his body not to move as Youngho gently circles a hand around his cock. He’s so sensitive, and he moans at the slight touch, even that enough to make him want to drop to his knees. 

“Please,” Sehun gasps. He reaches out, tries to pull at the ties of Youngho’s pants. His fingers shake. “Please, let me—” 

Youngho takes Sehun’s hands in his, pulls him close. Sehun struggles at the criss-crossed ties, pulls the knots free. 

“Take it off me,” Youngho says. “Strip me down to nothing.” 

Sehun shivers, the words running through him, and it feels monumental for some reason, the culmination. The release. He pushes the fabric down to the floor, and Youngho steps out of it, and they look upon each other. It is not the first time, not at all, but it does feel entirely different. Fresh and new. 

Youngho takes him by the hand to the bed, and for a moment, Sehun marvels at its size before he’s pulled flat on top of Youngho’s body, delicious skin against skin. Youngho’s hands come to his hips, and he pushes Sehun further into him, the grind of their bodies sinuous, mind-numbing. 

“Move,” Youngho whispers. “Show me how you move.” 

He moans, the order sinking into his skin, and then, he does as he was bade. 

Sehun settles his knees on either side of Youngho’s legs, straddling him low as he rubs himself against Youngho. It is indecent, shameless, and he delights in it, throws his head back as he begins to work his hips to a steady rhythm, something base and instinctual about it. 

Insecurity, anxieties forgotten, he moves as Youngho ordered him to, and when he looks down at Youngho, the pleasure spread plainly across his face, Sehun nearly spends. It is so much, and it has swallowed him so quickly. 

“Do you want more, my lark?” Youngho asks, fingers dipping into Sehun’s waist. He plants his feet, a gentle rocking to his hips. “Do you crave it?” 

The enormity of his lust frightens him, but not enough to back down, not enough to shy away any longer. 

“Yes,” Sehun admits, voice shaking with need. “Yes, I do.” 

“And have you thought about it?” Youngho asks, slowing the movement down to almost nothing. “Whether you want to be the kitten or not?” 

Sehun furrows his brow, not quite understanding, but the confusion doesn’t last for long. Youngho reaches around his body, hands playing down until his fingers are petting against his hole. Sehun’s body gives out, and he collapses to Youngho’s chest, letting Youngho do as he wishes. He keens as Youngho continues to tease against the sensitive skin, his face buried in Youngho’s chest. 

“Is that answer enough, lark?” Youngho asks, a deep rumbling laugh pulsing through him. “You’ll be my kitten?” 

_Kitten or songbird_ , he thinks. _There is no difference between creatures of devotion._

“Yes,” Sehun hisses. “Yes, please.” 

They move, a tangling of limbs and tongues, and when Sehun is laid across the bed, Youngho looks over him, chin tilted down, an air of— 

“You look as though you want to devour me,” Sehun says quietly, and he is starting to feel it, the desire creep up into his head and quiet all else. 

He runs a hand across his stomach, down to stroke at his cock, and Youngho’s eyes are quick to follow the movement, hungry as they watch Sehun touch himself. Take the pleasure that he wants. 

Youngho wastes no more time, vaulting across the bed to the table, taking a small flask back with him. When Youngho moves between Sehun’s legs, Sehun spreads to make room. Youngho settles between them, pours oil into a cupped hand, warming it in his grasp. 

When he slips the circle of his fist around Sehun’s cock, it shocks the breath out of him. He pants wildly as Youngho begins to stroke him with abandon, and within moments, he is on the edge of coming, pushing Youngho’s hands away with a moan. 

Youngho smiles down at him, bends down to kiss and lick across Sehun’s stomach. He shudders, takes the sheets in his hands to stop from grabbing Youngho’s shoulders or his hair in his fists. 

He kisses and sucks at the thin skin of Sehun’s inner thighs, wet fingers dancing along Sehun’s hole. 

“Relax,” Youngho commands, and the wet sound of his touch makes Sehun tense all over. “That isn’t relaxing, larkling.” 

“Then perhaps _you_ should try it,” Sehun says through grit teeth, and as he bears down, a finger slips inside him. “Oh, _gods_.” 

“Would you like to see me try it?” Youngho asks, hand still as he lets Sehun adjust to the strange sensation. “Would you like me beneath you? Being your kitten?” 

Just as the thought _I’d like nothing more_ enters his head, Youngho shifts his touch slightly, and his finger sinks in deeper, up and in and—

“Oh, gods,” Sehun cries. “Oh, Youngho-yah.” 

He grins, teeth grazing against Sehun’s thigh as he starts to rub small, teasing circles inside him, and Sehun’s head swims. He arches, hips working down on the pressure, and he groans. 

Sehun doesn’t know how long Youngho stretches him, but it feels like hours. His body thrashes against his will, the spontaneous movement a reflex to the intense delectation scaling through him. He doesn’t know when Youngho splits him open with a second finger, or even a third, too lost in the moment to keep track. All he knows is the dizzying pleasure, the sickening heat that builds within him. 

“Enough,” Sehun cries, fingers circling Youngho’s wrist. “Please, enough, give me—” 

“Give you more?” Youngho asks. 

There is no shame in him when he pleads for it. 

It is another flurry of movement as Youngho resettles between Sehun’s legs, spread wide around his hips. He feels torn open, bleeding from his chest, and he moans as the head of Youngho’s cock works against him. He is well-prepared, Youngho made sure of it, but now, on the precipice… 

“All those nights, wrapped in your arms,” Youngho gasps, “I wanted to taste you. I wanted to feel you as I’m feeling you now.” 

Sehun can’t catch his breath, and his chest flutters as he tries to grasp for it. “Y-You—,” he tries, but he can’t seem to find the rest of the thought in his cluttered, lust-filled head. 

“Yes, I have wanted you since I met you, my lark,” he gasps, his cock pushing into Sehun in one gentle thrust of his hips. “Look at you. Beauty in everything you do.” 

“Please,” Sehun cries. “Oh… _please_.” 

“A lover who begs,” Youngho praises, petting soft fingers down Sehun’s cheek. “You are better than daydreams, little lark.” 

Sehun arches his back as his body tenses and shudders under Youngho’s, and Youngho tightens his hold on Sehun’s hip bones, his breath leaking out slow as he meets Sehun, their bodies connected as one. 

“Oh,” Sehun moans, and he feels tears spring to his eyes. He runs his hands up to hold Youngho’s arms, and he digs his nails into the meat of his bicep, holding on for his life. “Oh, you’re so—” 

“What am I?” Youngho whispers, and he lowers himself down, a hand on either side of Sehun’s head as he kisses him. “What am I?” 

“You’re everything,” Sehun cries. “I—I love you.” 

Youngho squeezes his eyes shut fiercely before he kisses Sehun fiercely, like the winds whipping up storms of glass, like the great fire hills of Hwajae, like the most beautiful, terrible parts of this world all colliding in a cut second, split in half, and then half again. 

“I have never loved anything, _anyone_ as deeply as I have learned to love you.” 

Sehun cries out into the dark of the night, but even still, there is light burning from both of them, swelling, impassioned light like they hold sun and stars within their chests as they make love to each other, the heat billowing in waves around them. 

“You are mine,” Youngho whispers in his ear. “You are mine and mine alone.” 

The words reverberate all through Sehun’s body, as arousing as the way Youngho looks him in the eye as he fucks into Sehun, their bodies slick against each other. 

He thunders forward, and Sehun can’t hardly remember the pain of the desert, can’t remember anything but this, the feeling of Youngho so deep inside him that it feels like they’ve always been one, always been _of_ the other, surrounding each other, in the air and in the water. 

“I love you,” he whispers like a prayer into Sehun’s ear. “I love you.” 

And Sehun cries, the tears slipping down his cheeks, arms around Youngho’s neck as he clings to him, legs crossed around his back. He has never felt so uselessly desperate for something, because now, he has it all. Everything rests before him, treasure beyond compare. 

It is a trembling build as they work against each other, hips and teeth and lips and pretty words that are all the prettier because they bear the truth. He shakes when Youngho thrusts harder and harder into him, the wet sounds of them echoing so loud that they ring in Sehun’s ears. He is falling apart at the seams, unspooling and unraveling as Youngho finds new depths within him, teeth sunk into Sehun’s shoulder that only serves to electrify Sehun, his nerves all lit like the wicks of candles. 

He muffles his moans with a kiss, letting Youngho swallow what he likes, the rest leaking out from the sides of their mouths as they grind. 

Moments seem to slip away as Youngho slips into him, and he’s lost all sense of time when Youngho’s thrusts seem to stem off from their reliable rhythm. 

Sehun moves against him, tightens his muscles all over, and bids Youngho forward with a kiss, one that says _take me always, keep me always. And come for me always._

The sounds that Youngho makes, guttural and as hot as fire itself, pour out into the room as he spends inside Sehun, and he is so close just from the feeling of it, full and complete. Youngho works a determined hand between them to pull at Sehun’s cock, wet at the head and flushed against his stomach. 

“Please,” Sehun begs, working his hips as he tries to get more, more, more. “Please, my love, I—” 

His voice is weak and trembling with emotion when he speaks, and just that, Sehun thinks, would be enough. 

“Let go,” he says, and Sehun has no choice but to obey. 

His chest rises as he arches up off the bed, but Youngho is there to hold him to the earth as he comes, spilling out and moaning as the feeling overwhelms all the senses, pulse after pulse of shocked pleasure, gasping as he tumbles back down to himself. 

They share breath, labored for several moments until they catch it between them, and Sehun’s legs fall from around Youngho’s hips, and Youngho falls beside him, body still resting half atop Sehun. 

Sehun stares at him, beholds the incomprehensible beauty of him: his hair mussed by Sehun’s hand, his lips red from Sehun’s kiss. His skin shines with sweat, and he smiles, fingers playing down Sehun’s body to play with his release. 

“Oh, _stop_ ,” Sehun says, attempting to wiggle away from it, but only for show. He believes, in his heart of hearts, he will always let Youngho do as he wishes, would only put up a small fight against him. 

“Look at this, my lark,” Youngho says, and Sehun wants to shy away from it, but he can’t, for there is nowhere to hide. “Look at all this.” 

His fingers dance through the spend, and Sehun shivers all over at the sight. He is—he will never know pleasure like this again. The fingers are gentle as they push into Sehun’s skin softly, the come spreading sticky and shiny along his stomach. 

“Don’t,” Sehun says, and he throws a hand over his eyes so that he won’t have to watch. 

“Why not? Didn’t you come for me?” 

“Yes,” Sehun says, and he stares into the black of his eyelids, still unwilling to stare down at Youngho further defiling him. Now, without the lust clouding his head, everything is so much more shameful. 

“Then why do you try to hide from me?” 

And then, Sehun feels Youngho move, push up off the bed, arms on either side of him. Sehun is intrigued, curious, so he spies through his fingers, and— _oh gods_. 

“S-Stop,” Sehun begs. “No, you mustn’t.” 

“And why shouldn’t I?” Youngho asks. He licks at Sehun’s stomach, the come sitting on his tongue before he swallows it, throat working deliciously. 

“Oh, _gods_ ,” Sehun wails, and he buries his face in the pillows beside him as Youngho licks him clean, sucking along the skin of his abdomen, muscles flexing and unflexing. 

“Do you like it, larkling?” Youngho asks. “Do you like when I take what you give me?” 

The words jump through Sehun’s body like a bolt of lightning, speaking to some other great pleasure: Sehun on top of Youngho, or...or maybe inside him. Working his hips, thrusting into him. Spending inside of him. 

Sehun’s cock flexes weakly as he imagines it, and Youngho smiles lewdly. 

“You must _rest_ ,” he mewls. “And then, in the morning—” 

Sehun’s head is filled with the possibilities, the beautiful, terrible possibilities of what they are. What they could become.  
  


♔

  
  
When they are finally clean, gentle hands against each other, they lie in their bed, the sheets pulled over them. And Sehun rests in the cradle of Youngho’s body.

He rests his head on Youngho’s chest, traces his finger along the muscle of his pectoral. And when he shuts his eyes that evening, a quiet settles in his bones, for he has found blood of his blood. Flesh of his flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again! back with another obscene amount of stupidity lmao 
> 
> i sincerely hope u are enjoying!!! it feels weird not to do super long end notes, but i dont really feel like i have much to say!!! i've been writing this story for a while now in preparation of posting, and i've worked really hard, so i guess im just nervous!! it's like throwing your baby into a cage with a lion. like, there's a chance that everything is gonna go super well and like, man, wouldn't that be cute, but there is a far better chance that things will not go well, and then like, why would you fucking throw a baby to a lion. you're an awful mother. im the mother in this metaphor. 
> 
> literally right after i say im not doing long end notes, i ramble. i think i need a hobby besides writing. 
> 
> the final chapter in part one will be posted next tuesday, april 23rd. part two will start posting on the 7th of may. god. i better keep writing. 
> 
> hope you've been having a great day, i hope this week is kickin ass for you.
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfsupremacist) | [my curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/wolfsupremacist)


	3. book one, chapter three

He would like to tell a tale where they don’t dawdle in the lush greens, the aquamarines. Sehun isn’t much for falsehoods, however, so he’ll tell it plainly—they stay far longer than they intend to. 

They became fond of walking in the afternoons, as the birds all spoke to one another in song, delightful little tunes that glided along the rippling surface of branching streams. Dipping their feet into the waters, they sat on the small banks and watched as the trembling healing magic rose from the soil and the water, kissed every creature residing in the mighty forest every morning, noon, and night. Sehun had never seen it before, but now he had—it was exquisite. 

They leaned into each other. They found each other over and over again. In the light of the morn, at the close of day—they were always together. Always sharing in something new. For Youngho had never visited Gochidana, not in all his years, and it made Sehun joyous to hear it— _this one thing_ , he thought. _This shall be our moment in amber._

Happily, the food was plentiful, and it was the people who treated them to the spoils: the finger-fish from the great river, crusted with cashew and drenched in a sauce that was good enough to make Sehun dizzy, potato pancakes fried in oil, bananas fried in butter and dripping with caramel and spiced cream. They made teas from the flowers of the hibiscus and the gallberry rose, one red, the other periwinkle blue. The people made special wine from snake venom, and every time they imbibed, Yixing would tell them both that it was good for sexual appetite with a wink, even though they had heard it many times before. 

There was always something delectable, and Sehun found no harm in taking a bit of it all. After Junmyeon taking him home and Youngho finding him so early on in his pilgrimage, it was the third time in his life he felt truly _lucky_. 

The cabin was home for longer than Sehun thought it would be, and it became something of a habit to spend the day among the people, embracing the new culture, before tumbling into bed together for the evening. And maybe it was the venom wine, or maybe it was the hushed quiet of the night, but Sehun couldn’t keep his hands away from Youngho.

He touched Youngho whenever he could, however he wanted, and there was a magnificent power that thrilled through him whenever he made Youngho moan deep in his throat. He’d never experienced such raw pleasure, the kind that sat under your skin and made you shake. Sehun wanted...wanted so much, he could barely endure it. But he never had to wait long—he’s learned that Youngho is just as desperate as he. 

Sehun loves the air in Gochidana, and if time were kinder, he thinks they would stay for much longer than they do, maybe a lifetime. Still, the adventure of their visit fills him with the overwhelming sense of accomplishment, and he bows lowly to both Jongin and Yixing when they walk he and Youngho to the far Eastern edge of the wood. 

“You may call on me whenever you require,” Jongin says kindly, and when Sehun peeks up, he wears a gentle smile on his beautiful face. 

“And me,” Yixing says.

“My lords,” Sehun says, staring at the golden ribbons wrapping Jongin’s feet, “our debt to you both shall never be erased. Your kindness—we are…” 

“You are friends,” Yixing says, and he grabs Sehun by the shoulders, standing him up straight as a rod. “And whatever debt you’ve incurred is wiped clean upon your leave.” 

Sehun grins broadly, delighted to have made so many friends in such a short trip. Most of his life, he's been alone, save for Junmyeon. It was not easy, certainly not, but if this was to be the outcome, then Sehun would be inclined to call the suffering worth it. 

They are offered two black horses, manes waved down their necks, and when they leave the gates of Gochidana after an embrace and a misted farewell, the city closes its magic, impenetrable curtain mended, disguised behind them once more. 

Youngho turns to him, that pretty smile painted on his face yet again. They have seen so much, done so much, and still, they can smile. It is a blessing in and of itself. 

“Are you ready, lover?” Youngho asks. 

The affection makes knots of Sehun’s veins. _My_ , he thinks, _how it’s all changed._

“The Bichwood awaits,” Sehun says, and he taps his heels against his mare, gets her into a gentle trot. “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life, my beloved.” 

Youngho grins wider, all his teeth showing. He tightens the reins in his hands, clicks his heels against his own horse much the same. “Shall we race? It’s been so _long_ since I’ve felt the wind in my hair.” 

Sehun rolls his eyes, but gods, he is in love.  
  


♔

The third leg of their journey is through the kingdom of Bichwood, the capital city of the same name. It rests between Mount Jigu on its Western edge, Hwajae Hills on the East. It is recessed, a slightly valleyed desert between the harsh climes at either side. Nestled within the Earth, the nights are cool, pleasant with her serene winds.

The Bichwood is hot during the day, but the heat is tolerable, tolerable and temperate. It is late in the Sixth now, with their extended stay in Gochidana consuming most of their last month. Sehun’s learned to stop worrying about such things. They’ll arrive when they arrive. Time matters not. 

“I do love the way a near-death experience calms the heart,” Youngho says, voice and body moving with the trot of his horse. 

“Quiet, you,” Sehun chides, but he can’t keep the grin from creeping onto his face. 

“You can no longer pretend,” Youngho says, and Sehun glances over, sees him looking off to the distance, a smug smile on his face. “I know that in your heart of hearts, you lo—” 

“Won’t you ever fall silent?” Sehun asks loudly. 

“Not now,” Youngho says, and his smile goes warm when he turns it to Sehun. “Now that we’re happily in love.” 

Sehun makes a noise of frustration, wanting with all of his heart to take Youngho’s face in his hands, kiss him quiet. He taps his heels, the horse taking to a gallop, but Youngho follows suit, racing towards him, all the love between them close behind.  
  


♔

They are insatiable, even now. Once camp is set, they eat their supper quickly, and they spend no time outside before they retire to their tent. The chill in the air is sweet against them, and it brings them together, there in the nighttime.

“Come on,” Youngho says, pulling at Sehun’s robes, so harsh that Sehun hears the sleeve’s seam start to put up protest. “Off.” 

Sehun pulls himself from his clothes as fast as he can, and when they are both naked before each other, they hold each other’s jaws in their hands, kissing passionately. Nothing, nothing in the world, feels better than Youngho against him. All he can smell is their lust, and it builds between them as they hurriedly fall to their makeshift bed, the mess of blankets under them. 

Youngho spreads himself wide beneath Sehun, oils Sehun’s fingers for him. It’s ridiculous, how hot he manages to be, even with simple things. Sehun sucks in a heavy breath as he watches Youngho stroke along his fingers, a mischievous smirk on his face. 

“Fill me, won’t you?” Youngho says, voice barely above a whisper, but still rich and deep enough to make Sehun tremble with want. 

“Yes,” Sehun answers, and he slips his slick fingers between Youngho’s legs, petting along him, marveling as he arches his back, chest pushed into the air as Sehun teases at him. 

It’s only once Youngho relaxes back into the sheets that Sehun slides his first finger inside Youngho, expert now. 

“I’ve taught you too well,” Youngho gasps. “Now, you know how to tear me down to nothing.” 

“Nothing?” Sehun teases, letting Youngho get used to the pressure for a moment. “Never. You are so, so much.” He withdraws slowly, pushes back in, angles it up the way he’s learned it feels best. Youngho’s moan drips from his lips, spills out over his neck, and Sehun leans down to lick it up. “Kitten.” 

“Ah,” Youngho gasps, “but aren’t you mine, some nights?” 

“Yes,” Sehun hisses. “But not this night.” 

He rubs a torturous circle with the pad of his finger, and Youngho groans, deep from his throat. Youngho has awakened something within him that was long dormant, something that builds from the bottom of his stomach whenever Youngho writhes underneath him or crowds over top him. He keeps and is kept, and even if he could keep his hands to himself, he simply wouldn’t want to. Youngho is much too beautiful. 

Sehun is well-versed in this pleasure act now, has spent plenty of nights only milking sounds from Youngho’s throat. He knows Youngho’s body better than he knows his own at this point, the spots that are most sensitive, the places that make him ache. 

“Get inside me,” Youngho says, brow furrowed and legs split. “Before you lose the chance.” 

Sehun spares no second thought, slicking himself up with the sweet-smelling oil, coming home to Youngho.  
  


♔

Each night and each morning are much the same. Sehun feels as if they are newly joined, the careful way they touch each other. The way the daybreaks seem more beautiful with Youngho beside him, kissing him awake.

“If we wait much longer,” Youngho says, lips against the shell of Sehun’s ear, “we won’t ride at all today.” 

“I’m sure someone would ride,” Sehun says. 

Youngho sits up straight, eyes wide. He leans over Sehun, grabs Sehun’s face in a hand. Turns it back and forth, studying him. “Did I hear you correctly?” 

The answer is slightly muffled but still, Sehun manages to get out his “Yes.” 

“And did I _understand_ you correctly?” 

“Yes?” 

“Oh,” Youngho says, face crumpling into fake emotion as he collapses onto Sehun’s body. “I’m just so proud, little lark. Your first lewd joke. You’ve come such a long way.” 

Sehun rolls his eyes, but he supposes the sentiment isn’t entirely incorrect: he _has_ come a long way since his humble beginnings. And he’s becoming more of the man he was meant to be every single day. 

He tugs Youngho into his arms, plants popping wet kisses along his face before Youngho struggles against him. 

“Enough!” Youngho yells, kicking his legs. “We’re still three suns from Shauto.” 

“Yes,” Sehun says happily. “I suppose we best get riding.”  
  


♔

The more they see of the Bichwood kingdom, the more Sehun thinks he’d like to live here permanently. He seems to agree with the climate, if Youngho’s fawning over his skin seems to indicate anything, and genuinely, he feels like his body just _thrives_ in the territory.

The sands are warm under them, the breezes enough to take the edge off the heat, and the cooler evenings remind him of their time in Mulvilla, when they were first figuring each other out. Sehun likes to think of it. How little he knew, and how eager he was to learn. He still doesn’t know it all, or anything close to everything, but he’s growing. And that’s something to be celebrated. 

“It would be nice,” he comments as he looks around, stopped for water just another sun from Shauto. “To live somewhere this beautiful, I mean.” 

“It would be,” Youngho says in agreement. “But what could a farmer do in Bichwood?” 

He thinks on it for a moment or two. He doesn’t have many skills besides farming, all his knowledge raised from nothing by Junmyeon’s kindness. But he’s not a total fool; he can figure his way through the world. 

“I could live at the palace,” Sehun offers with a smile. “Serve as a temple-keeper.” 

“Oh?” Youngho says, mischievously, and he touches Sehun casually along the arm, up the bell of his sleeve. “I had no idea you were so keen to serve.” 

“I might be,” Sehun says. “Though I think it would depend mightily on who I’m serving.” 

Youngho looks up, meets his eye, and he makes a noise of distress. “Back to your horse,” he says, “before I make you agree to serve _me_.” 

Sehun thinks about it for the rest of the day. It would be no great sacrifice. The worshiping they do at night, those are Sehun’s favorite kinds of prayers.  
  


♔

The capital city of Bichwood, with all its riches and glories, is only another five suns from Shauto, and the realization that their journey is coming to an end is not lost on Sehun. When they walk through the city in search of shelter, he realizes how different the Bichwood is to every other place he’s been: the architecture is more advanced, the stonework more careful. The stones all seem to be sun-baked, sandstones and granite and the like. The buildings all have high, vaulted ceilings, glorious to observe, and the columns that line the exteriors all bear frescoes of important events in the history of the richest kingdom known to man, god, or king.

He supposes he’s been around enough beautiful things, see enough wonders of the world now that he should appear a bit more bored as they walk, but he can’t seem to train his expression. Everything is stunning, even the people, with the intricate necklaces, metal cowls, and thin dresses they wear. 

Youngho walks through the buildings as if he knows exactly where he’s going, but he carries that energy through everything he does: his confidence is innate, Sehun thinks, and Sehun wishes he could take even an ounce for his own. 

Their room at the inn is beautiful, same as the rest of the city. There is a balcony, and Youngho immediately strides to it, throws open the curtains and lets the light shine into the room. A gentle breeze curtseys through, and Sehun pulls at the ties of his riding robe, lets it fall to the floor around him. 

Youngho watches him the way he always does now. “You look too pretty doing that.” He steps forward, takes the thin fabric of Sehun’s shirt in his hands. “Too pretty to leave alone.” 

He lowers his mouth to the bared slope of Sehun’s neck, kissing with closed lips. Sehun tilts his head to the side, and his eyes flutter closed. 

“Weren’t you supposed to show me around the city?” Sehun asks, a smile sliding across his face as Youngho works an arm around his body. 

“There’s plenty of time for all that,” Youngho says, and their bodies are tight against each other, delicious in that heavy way he’s learned he loves. “There is a bathhouse here. And they rent private rooms for a bit of gold.” 

Sehun buries his hands on the silk shoulders of Youngho’s robe as he opens his eyes, greeted by the heat of Youngho’s gaze. “How much is a bit?” 

Youngho pulls him by the nape of his neck, kisses him hard, and Sehun is lost to everything besides for a moment, and then a moment more. 

“We’ve got plenty to spare, haven’t we?” 

Sehun grins, kissing Youngho chastely before turning to his bags. “Come. If we’re to bathe, then we’ll need to bring our walking robes, won’t we?” 

He’s busy sorting through his clothes, when Youngho’s arms circle around his waist. Sehun stands to full height, Youngho’s mouth on his neck. He clasps his hands over Youngho’s on his stomach, pushes back into Youngho. 

“Can’t very well expect me to walk to the baths if I’m hard,” Youngho mumbles against his skin. 

“Then I suggest you relieve yourself,” Sehun says with a twist of his hips. “Some way or another.”  
  


♔

Shauto is more sprawling than the cities and towns of Mulvilla, certainly more so than that of Yeol, so they take their time strolling through the stone-lined streets. Youngho buys him trinkets, little things to weigh down their packs more on their trips home, but Sehun does nothing to dissuade him. After all, a few little things won’t hurt, certainly not the tiny figurine of the lark, carved alabaster in his hand.

Shauto comes alive in the evenings, in the dens where the wine flows and smokers suck from their pipes, breathing clouds into the air. During those candlelit nights, dancers string their way through the places, in all manners of undress. 

Sehun’s never felt so virginal as when Youngho leads him by the hand through the den called _Nomad_. Immediately, they’re greeted by a topless woman, breasts only covered by her long, dark red hair. 

“Well met,” she says, slithering into Youngho’s arms. 

Youngho looks back at Sehun with a smile. 

“Well met,” Youngho says, eyes affixed to Sehun’s face. 

“I’ve not seen you gentlemen before,” she says, and she puts her hand on Youngho’s chest, slipping it underneath the slit of his robe. “How might I be of service to you?” 

“A drink, to start,” Youngho says, and his hand comes to rest on her shoulder, playing idly with her hair. 

“Red or white?” she asks. 

“Whichever’s your favorite.” 

She smiles, leads Youngho and Sehun by extension to loft of pillows and throws. There are groups of men and women, pipes or glasses of wine in their hands, talking, laughing...

“Relax,” she commands, “lie back. And I’ll return in a moment. Until then—” 

She pushes Youngho down to the pillowed floor, climbs over him, kisses him on the lips with a swirl of her hips. He moans, pleasured, before reaching to drag Sehun next to him. Sehun collapses next to him, watches in awe as the girl slips her tongue into Youngho’s mouth, drawing the sounds out of him. 

It is only a moment later that she turns to Sehun, smiling. “And you?” 

Sehun looks to Youngho, and Youngho nods, as if giving permission. For some strange reason, it puts a bolt of lust in Sehun’s stomach as he leans forward, letting the woman kiss him. It’s obvious that she’s kissed a lot of men, because she knows exactly how to make Sehun feel like gasping. She tastes like grapes ripe to bursting, and he’s never considered himself attracted to a woman before, except for this very moment. 

When she stands from them, she parts her hair to either side, her breasts on full display. Her pink nipples are pierced, decorated with two shining emeralds, and Sehun is transfixed by them, staring just a little too long. 

She seems amused by it when she turns, promising to return with their wine. Youngho lays his head back against the backrest, pillows of deep purples and golds and oranges, and he grins slyly at Sehun. 

“Larkling,” Youngho says, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted to have her.” 

“Quiet,” Sehun says, and Youngho opens his arms, lets Sehun settle back into the embrace. “You started this all.” 

“How can you blame me, little lark?” Youngho says. “It’s so much fun to corrupt you.” 

Sehun suppresses a small smile, doesn’t let Youngho take satisfaction in just how much he loves being corrupted by him. 

It is only a few moments of solitude, the strumming of lutes filling the air above them like rings of smoke, before the girl waiting on them returns with a fluted jug of wine, the glasses hung upside down in her hands. 

“Gentlemen,” she says, sitting beside them, pouring the glasses full before offering to them. “Should we toast?” 

They sit up slightly, still so relaxed in their reclines that Sehun’s sure they look as indulgent as he feels. They tip the rims of their glasses against each other’s until the glass sings, and the woman’s eyes glitter as she waits for Youngho to speak. 

“To true love,” he says, and he looks to Sehun, dipping in to kiss him on the cheek before looking back to her. “And new friends.” 

She sips the red from her glass with a smile, and they both follow her. Sehun feels it in his stomach: the luxury.  
  


♔

Her name is Soyun, and her hair is far from natural.

“A traveling salesman sold the dye to me,” she says, letting Sehun run his fingers through it. “It used to be a dark purple. Orange before that.” 

“Ah,” Sehun says, his fingers playing at the ends. “That would be pretty, I bet. The purple.” 

“The men did like it,” she sighs, laying her head back against his chest. “But I’ve found they like the red even more.” 

“It is quite—” 

She looks up at him, grinning mischievously. “Ravishing?” She draws a circle on the bare skin of his chest where she’s parted the fabric of his robe and then his chemise. 

Objectively, she is beautiful, and she is _very_ good at her job, as charming as she is interesting. She drinks with them, takes their tips for her time, and altogether makes the evening quite enjoyable. 

Mostly, Youngho only watches them speak, lets Sehun ask Soyun about her life, her dalliances with men and women of all sorts. Soyun seems eager to talk, and Sehun likes to listen, so they make a fine pair, especially with the bottles of wine that Youngho keeps her fetching all evening. 

They’re lazy with the alcohol by the end of it, laughing and carrying on. But Sehun watches the rest of the men, smoking. He wants to try. He wants—he wants _something_. Doesn't know what, exactly. But _something_. 

“I know that look upon your face,” Youngho says. 

“You don’t,” Sehun argues. “You aren’t privy to _every_ thing I think, you know.” 

“Never opium,” Youngho says, totally ignoring Sehun in favor of gesturing around to the group of men lazing in the booth next to them, all silent, mouths open. “Too much, and you’ll become like them.” 

“Your lover is right. You’ll never feel as good as the first time you smoke it, and every time you try to recapture that beautiful light, it’ll get further and further from you. You pour more and more money into the den mother’s pocket,” Soyun says, gesturing to the group of men at their left. “They come every day. It is a sickness.”

Sehun shudders to think of it, but in a strange part of him, the curiosity remains. 

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks. 

She only smiles. “A lady has to keep some of her secrets, doesn’t she?” Sehun rolls his eyes, and it makes her laugh. “You want to know what it feels like, is that it?” He nods, a bit too eager, and she settles back in his arms. “The best feeling you’ve ever known. Multiplied by so many thousands.” 

He sighs, closing his eyes, imagining what it must be. The shot into the sky, the joy, the ecstasy seeping from your pores. That must be why people get addicted: even the thought is addictive. 

“But still, you crave a taste. Might you desire to taste something else? Something you may never get the chance to try again?” 

Sehun sits up, looks to her, and she is wearing that same look of devilry Sehun’s come to know. “Yes,” he says, knowing that Youngho is just an arm’s length away, knowing that Youngho would never let him go astray. 

Soyun walks on her knees across to Youngho, whispers in his ear. The secret must please him because he smiles at her before waving her off with a casual hand. She stands, as elegant and poised as a dancer should be, hips dipping from side to side. 

“Only a moment,” she says, traipsing off to the room beyond the curtains.  
  


♔

“Try,” Soyun says. “It is tea of ginseng and mushrooms.” Sehun wrinkles his nose at the description, but she leans forward, red painted lips against his ear. “You would not believe the effect it has…”

That alone is enough to entice Sehun into sniffing it carefully, and interestingly enough, it doesn’t smell much like mushrooms. It smells more of honey, sweet, maybe with a hint of lemon. Sehun gently wafts it towards him, and even the inhalation of it makes him feel a bit dizzy with desire. 

“Are you sure?” 

“It was just an offer,” she says with a shrug. “I am here to serve.” 

She goes to take it away, but quickly Sehun grabs her by the wrist, the cup jostling only slightly in her hands. 

“I—” 

Soyun leans forward, up on her knees as if she’s posed to strike. “Would you like to try?” 

Sehun looks behind her, watches Youngho watching them. 

“Once,” Youngho says. “Only once.” 

He told Youngho he wanted to try it all. He takes the thick ceramic cup in his hands, holds it to his lips. Youngho smiles at him as he inhales, lets the steam rising from the tea fog him almost immediately. 

“Drink,” Youngho commands, and Sehun lifts the bottom, tips it back until he’s swallowed about half of it, the warmth settling in his stomach. 

Soyun passes the cup to Youngho, and Youngho drinks deeply until there is no more left to drink. He locks his eyes with Sehun’s, and a thrill of lust runs through Sehun’s body. 

“H-How long,” he stutters, “how long does it take to take effect?” 

She smiles, long legs settling on either side of his hips. Soyun leans in, kisses him sweetly, and stars burst behind his eyelids, bright blue and green, warm like the sun. 

“My sweet,” Soyun says, brushing her fingers through his hair, making him arch into her touch, “you’ve already begun to feel it.”  
  


♔

_Warm passages, and bodies reflecting light. It’s hard to know what’s real and what isn’t, impossible to tell the difference between perfect copies, mirror images. His body is on fire, and the flames lick at him. He swallows thickly, tastes orchids, jasmine, and the blossoming sound of laughter. Laughter and tears. It all tastes the same, different and the same. Delicious and diverse, too._

_Distantly, he knows where he is. He is beyond the curtains, red and nearly opaque. He inhales sharply, and all he smells is perfume and powder, the oils that women dot behind their ears, along their decolletage. Women always smell nice, all the women he’s ever known._

_“Do you feel good?” she whispers, and he whispers back his answer: yes. Yes, I feel so good. I can see into the forever that holds time together, clutched between the weak fingers of gods._

_He lays in the bed of silks, and there is someone beneath him. His lover. The one who breathes in the smoke of incense, only to breathe out songs. Melodies. Note after note. Every part of him is music._

_The warmth only grows in him, builds as flames slowly catch everything in their grasp. Oil, oil and water, and he moves through the air as if he can fly. The tiled ceiling is painted, and he is in the kiln, the designs shift and curl along with him, made beautiful by the heat. He reaches up towards them, and it's like he can change the patterns of them, the tips of his fingers paintbrushes._  
  


♔

The door barely closes behind them, and Sehun is feverishly pulling at his clothes. The robes fall inelegantly, thrown in a heap before he launches himself into Youngho’s arms, kissing him messily. Youngho’s tongue in his mouth feels like domination, like surrender. Sehun gives himself to that ecstasy, that release. He would give himself over and over if it was asked of him. And even if it wasn’t.

He does not have time to wish or want. He needs. Needs with every fiber of him, so he lies his stomach flat on the bed, but on his knees, pushed up like a whore. 

“Fuck me,” he curses, and he reaches behind himself lewdly. Presents himself in the most wanton way he knows. He buries his face in the bed, gasping when a wetness strokes along him. He shifts his face to the side, whispers, “Please. Fuck me.” 

“You look like one of Soyun’s girls,” Youngho says. “You look like you could serve men at a pleasure house.” 

Sehun daydreams for a moment, the heat dizzying as it swirls in him. _Is this what it would feel like?_ He would sell himself to Youngho ever night, for the rest of his days. 

Youngho’s fingers slide into him with no hesitation, and the pleasure is tripled, quadrupled even. Sehun gasps, biting down on a moan so loud he’s afraid the people in the room next to them would hear. But when Youngho thrusts his fingers in deeper, curling them, Sehun can no longer help himself. It crashes out of his chest, swallowed up by the swell of the room, and Sehun twists his hips back, fucks himself with abandon as he tries to climb higher, ever-higher. 

Youngho sinks into him, and wet heat drips over his back, along his spine, up the insides of his thighs. He is shivering through it when Youngho takes him by the hips, thunders into him, taking what he wants and more. 

“Please,” Sehun cries, and he doesn’t even recognize the high-pitched sound of his own voice. “Please, more.” He pushes up onto his hands, and Youngho doesn’t speak, but he presses Sehun back down to the bed with a firm hand between Sehun’s shoulders. 

Youngho takes his hands, pulls him back by the drag of his arms, and he grunts, knees sinking a little deeper into the cushion of the mattress, hopelessly hot, body quavering through a song as Youngho thrusts into him. 

Sehun doesn’t see stars when he comes; he sees the bright white of heaven, a taste of forever and always.  
  


♔

The sun wakes him with a caress along his cheek. He rolls to his side, arm slung across Youngho’s chest.

“Good morning,” Sehun says, eyes closed, trying to prolong the night. 

Youngho kisses him gently on the forehead, and it makes Sehun smile. How deeply does love extend below the surface of them? How deeply can it go? He feels it within the marrow of his bones, in the streams of his blood, taking root within all of him now. 

He can remember everything of the night before: _Nomad_ , the smoke rings, Soyun and her long, red hair, the emeralds decorating her. The slip into wine, into strange teas, into strange waters, into the arms of his lover. And it was _strange_ , the way his body overtook him, the way he acted on base desires he’d never thought of acting on so plainly. He’s always felt an undercurrent of shame, a need to quiet himself whenever they were in the throes. But during the night, the tea in his stomach, he felt no such shame. No such need. 

Youngho did not seem to mind. So maybe it wasn’t so strange. Maybe it was an experiment in acceptance. 

Youngho sits on the edge of the bed, threading one arm after the other through Sehun’s robe. Sehun enjoys it too much, the tickle of belonging. Of possession. 

“How do you feel?” Youngho asks. 

“I feel well,” Sehun says. “And you? Do you feel well?” 

Youngho looks back over his shoulder, the slip of the robe coy. “Very well, thanks to you.” 

Sehun’s cheeks go hot at the implication, but he feels no shame. 

“What do you think, lark,” Youngho says. “Another day here?” 

“Yes,” Sehun agrees. “Just one more sun, and then we’ll be off.” 

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Youngho says, and he turns back around, starts tying the robe across his waist. “I have something I’d like to show you.” 

Sehun goes quiet. He thinks about...about Shauto. About Youngho. About the life Sehun’s never found out about. He sits up with a stretch and a yawn, and he huddles to the edge of the bed, running his hands over Youngho’s strong shoulders. 

“How many times have you been here?” Sehun asks. “To Shauto.” 

“Oh,” Youngho says, a hint of a smile on his lips. “A few.” 

“Tell me truly,” Sehun says, hooking his chin over Youngho’s shoulder, his arms around Youngho’s body. “You’re always so secretive.” 

Youngho turns, kisses Sehun on the cheek. “I’ve no secrets from you, larkling. You know that.” 

Sehun knows it isn’t true. Unravel Youngho, and the secrets pour from him. There is always something hidden, something beneath. Something there, under what you know, what you can see. 

And maybe that’s why Sehun loves him. The secrets. He’s never been so enraptured, and certainly, he’s never felt so alive.  
  


♔

“You mustn’t open your eyes,” Youngho says, and Sehun smirks, keeping a hand clasped over his face. “It’s very important, so you’d do well to remember.”

“Yes, yes,” Sehun says, trying to hustle him along. “I remember, I remember.” 

“No peeking, either,” Youngho teases. “I’ll know if you peek.” 

“I won’t peek,” Sehun agrees, and he lets himself be led. 

It is an interesting sensation, giving up direction to someone else, and he feels everything a bit stronger as they move: Youngho’s hand on his wrist, fingers soft and supple. The sweet breeze through Shauto, the smell of the air. He hears water, and when Youngho pulls him to a stop, he breathes in deeply, lungs filled with cold. 

“Open your eyes.” 

What greets him is nothing short of breath-taking. 

The waterfall stretches so high into the sky that Sehun can barely see the top, and the pool resting at the foot of the falls is bright blue, teeming with tiny fish, colored like the rainbows. Water weeds stretch along the basin, emerald green and waving as the water pushes and pulls them to and fro. It is an oasis Sehun could have sworn he saw in the middle of the red wasteland between the Barren Steppes and Varrencarres. It is— 

“Do you like it?” Youngho asks. 

Sehun turns to him as if he just truly seeing him for the first time. His skin glows with sweat, his eyes sparkling gold when the sun hits them. His hair falls casually into his face, and Sehun steps forward to brush it away. “It’s beauty is only dulled by yours.” 

Youngho smiles brightly, takes Sehun in his arms. “The charm drips off you now,” he says, kissing Sehun on the cheek. “I’ve been a terrible influence, haven’t I?” 

“Oh yes,” Sehun says, arms around Youngho’s slim waist. “Just _terrible_.” 

It is not long before Youngho withdraws himself from the embrace in order to spread a soft blanket along the sand, set a basket down atop it before turning back to Sehun. 

“Would you like to bathe first?” 

Sehun doesn’t answer, only starts to pull at the ties of his robe, earning him a little smirk from Youngho. He slows himself down, makes it teasing as he reveals each new little patch of bare skin, and Youngho watches him strip himself naked under the hot summer sun. He dips a hand over his stomach after he pulls his chemise from over his head, and Youngho’s eyes are hawk-like as they follow the movement. 

Sehun turns, walking to the edge of the water. He looks back over his shoulder, smiling. “Aren’t you joining me?” he teases, and he doesn’t know what’s gotten into him, but he is so very intent on making Youngho feel the way Youngho always manages to make him feel. 

The water is cool on his skin, and as he slips into the water, he shivers out a moan, rolling his shoulders back as he walks further into the depths. 

“Don’t look so beautiful, lark,” Youngho says, and Sehun turns to watch him pull the shoulder of his robe off before unfastening the ties from his waist. 

The fabric dances through the air as it falls, landing on the sands below him. 

“You are one to talk,” Sehun says, and he runs a hand through his hair, pushes it back from his eyes as he bids Youngho forward silently. 

Youngho obeys, follows where he leads, and even the way he walks is erotic: the sway of his hips, left to right. The warmth in his eyes. His skin, richly tanned, glowing in the sun. He steps into the water, and his expression doesn’t change, unphased by the water. His gaze stays with Sehun, and he walks towards him purposefully. 

It’s warm, even in the chilled waters, and Sehun digs his feet into the silt of the basin as Youngho moves. It feels like seduction, but it is mostly for show: Sehun has never needed much seducing. He is weak for Youngho, exceptionally so. 

“Did I do well in showing you this place?” Youngho asks, and he rests his hands on Sehun’s hips, possessive even in such a small movement. 

“Yes,” Sehun says. “Very well.” 

He wastes no more time, pulling Youngho in by the shoulders and kissing him hard, their bodies flush against each other, the water rippling out in waves from where they stand. The waterfall sounds like the blood rushing in his ears, and the cold of the water only serves to make the heat of them that much hotter. 

“Please,” Youngho says, and it hits Sehun right in the stomach, a punch of want. “Please, touch me.” 

Youngho’s never begged him before, never asked so wantonly for anything, not even in the thrall of the ginseng tea, and Sehun can’t hardly bite back his moan. Even when Youngho is his kitten, he takes lead, pulls Sehun to the edge before pushing him over. Sehun has been keen to follow, inexperienced as he is, but this—this opens his eyes to something entirely different. 

Sehun runs his hands down the sides of Youngho’s body, over the muscles of his obliques. He lets his fingers play in the valleys of the muscles, running the sharp of his nails over the skin. It makes Youngho suck in a sudden breath, and Sehun likes that, likes being able to make Youngho falter. Go off-balance. 

“Sehun,” Youngho says. “Larkling.” 

The water is cool at their waists, the chill creeping through them, only seeming to amplify the heat that surges through them. Sehun hungrily kisses down Youngho’s neck, happy to find that Youngho turns his neck to the side, allowing him access to the thin skin of his throat. Sehun opens his mouth, sucks and licks hard enough to leave a mark. 

Youngho gasps and shifts, feet dancing in the silt as he holds onto Sehun as if he’s already on the edge, pushing his hips absently, thoughtlessly. Sehun’s mind scrambles through the possibilities for them. 

“My thighs,” Youngho whispers, as if he can read Sehun’s mind. He reaches down, takes Sehun’s cock in his hand. He strokes at it through the water, the ripples echoing around his wrist. “Please,” he says, and he moves, spreads his legs a bit, pushing Sehun’s cock through the gap. He huddles back into Sehun’s embrace, tightens his legs, and Sehun can’t help but to groan into his ear. “Please, fuck me.” 

Sehun takes Youngho by the hips, pushes into the plush and muscle between his legs, and Youngho moans, delicious and sweet. Sehun moves, takes his hands to the small of Youngho’s back, dipping down to settle on Youngho’s ass as he thrusts, his body taking the reins. 

“Please,” Youngho moans, “please, Sehun.” 

Sehun doesn’t know what Youngho is begging for, whether it’s him, or the sex, or the love tied up in both, but he intends to give it to him until he no longer can.  
  


♔

They spend the day at the falls, wrinkled and sated when they return to the city proper. They laze in bed for much of the later afternoon, only dressing again when their stomachs ask them to.

They’re communing at the Red House for supper, seated on the same side of a bench, talking to a few of the locals who explain the schedule of the mares in Bichwood. Sehun smiles, thinking of Youngho’s face when he sees them—it will be a glorious sight, he just knows it. 

Torn from reverie, Sehun begins to dig back into his light meal: a bowl of thin rice noodles, prettily colored with snap peas and peppers, the sauce sweet and just a bit salty. 

But then, he feels a tugging at his robe sleeve. 

He turns, looking down to see a small boy, no older than six summers, staring up at him with fiery red eyes. It is a strange coloring, combined with his light auburn hair, but he wears a sweet smile, staring up at Sehun. 

“May I help you?” Sehun offers. 

“Yes, sir,” the boy grins. “I’m here to deliver a letter.” 

_A letter_ , Sehun thinks. _Here?_ Surely, Junmyeon hasn’t worked himself into a tizzy over this all. Sehun told him he wouldn’t write much. 

“Alright, then,” Sehun says proudly, setting his chopsticks down, sticking out his hand. 

“Oh, not for you, sir,” the boy says, pointing behind Sehun. “For him.” 

Youngho turns, eyes going wide when he sees the little boy with the letter waving around. 

“Here you are, sir,” the boy smiles up at Youngho, bowing his head when Youngho takes it. Then, he clears his throat. He looks up at Youngho, batting his little eyelashes. 

Youngho rolls his eyes, reaches into his pocket, flips a gold piece to the kid as he turns the letter over in his hand. 

“Thanks, sir!” the boy says, running off, sandals slapping as he skitters away. 

Youngho turns his back to Sehun, studying the piece of parchment carefully. 

“A letter?” Sehun asks, hooking his chin over Youngho’s shoulder. And sure enough, it is addressed to Youngho. “Hurry and open it, then.” 

“Ah,” Youngho says, and he hurriedly shoves it into the pocket of his robe. “It is unimportant, I’m sure of it.” 

“How can you be sure of something like that?” Sehun teases. Youngho turns a bit more, and Sehun’s forced to sit back from him. “Is everything alright?” 

Youngho sits back straight in his seat, picks up his chopsticks again. He nudges his shoulder into Sehun’s, offering a handsome smile after a blink. “Alright.” 

“Alright,” Sehun agrees, and he picks his chopsticks up yet again.  
  


♔

It sticks in him as a thorn would. A letter? In the Bichwood? Who sent it? How did they know where Youngho was? Isn’t he—doesn’t he only have Sehun in this world?

Sehun’s always known there was something about Youngho, something Youngho kept hidden. He knew it from the very beginning, felt it in him every single time Youngho mentioned his journeys across the world. Who is he? Just who has Sehun fallen in love with? 

Youngho slumbers beside him, and quietly, Sehun pushes up and out of the bed, walking as silently as he knows how. Guilt, sticky and cruel, sits along him, in the corners of his eyes and along his fingertips. But he wants to know. The curiosity—it will creep up and strangle him if he doesn’t act. 

Youngho’s robe is slung carelessly over the wooden post of the bed, so Sehun walks over to it deliberately, slipping his shaking hand into the pocket and retrieving the rolled letter, wax seal still in tact. 

He never even opened it. 

“You know,” Youngho says, and the sudden sound shocks a gasp from Sehun’s chest, “if your interest was so unquenchable, I would have shared with you.” 

“I’m sorry,” Sehun says, the apology falling from his lips. “I’m sorry, I—” 

Youngho sits up in bed, back resting against the intricate carved headboard. He scrubs a hand through his hair, ruffling it. “It’s nothing,” he says. “Just open it.” 

“W-What?” 

Youngho grins. “Open it. Since you want to know what it says so very badly.” 

Sehun doesn’t know what this is, feels vaguely as if he’s being tricked, but he slides his pointer under the edge of the seal. It pops open, the letter unfurling. 

“Bring it here,” Youngho says, leaning over to light a candle deftly. “To the light.” 

He walks over, footsteps even quieter than before, and he attempts to hand the letter over to Youngho. 

“No,” Youngho says, shoving it back. “Read it, lover.” 

Sehun can’t stop the trembling in his hands, fear and excitement all boiling up into one, and he pulls the letter open, only to see— 

Nothing. The parchment is blank. 

“W-What is this?” Sehun asks. 

Youngho sits up, spies the contents or _lack thereof_ , and he laughs. “A little trick. Quick way to get a piece of gold. For a boy who doesn’t have much to his name, it’s quite smart, isn’t it?” 

Sehun stares at him, marvels at him. “Did you know?” 

“Yes,” Youngho says, and Sehun searches his face for a crack, a smile, a hint of falsehood. “But does that matter?” Sehun doesn’t know, doesn’t know anything at all. “Do you trust so little in me?” 

“I have never trusted more. Not in anyone, or anything,” Sehun says. 

“Such sacrilege. You say it so carelessly. And yet,” Youngho says, and he takes Sehun’s chin in his hand, turns his face to the side sharply, “here we are.” 

_Here we are_ , Sehun thinks. 

The heat is delicious, coursing through him in the dimly lit room, and the darkness seems to swallow up the light, just one tiny flame. But it’s enough to set Sehun on fire, every piece of him glowing and shuddering. 

Youngho pulls him into a kiss, passionate and angry, and the light goes out around them. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Youngho asks against Sehun’s lips, breath coming hard and fast. 

“No,” Sehun whimpers. “No, I’m sorry.” 

“You want punishment.” 

“ _No_ ,” Sehun whines, and he kisses his way down Youngho’s neck, tries to show him that he means as he says. 

“Are you sure?” Youngho asks, and he runs careful, determined hands up Sehun’s back until he arches it up as a frightened cat would before he inverts it, pushing the arch down. His body into Youngho’s. “Look at you. My sweet.” 

Sehun buries his face in Youngho’s neck, huffs out a wet breath. “Please. Forgive me for my transgression.” 

Youngho takes him by the jaw, looks into his eyes. He is soft all over, gaze like molten caramel. “Are you genuinely fearful, larkling?” Youngho kisses him sweetly, chastely. “Of me? Please. I was only playing with you.” 

Sehun bites his lip between his teeth. _Truly?_

“I sometimes forget,” Youngho says, brushing his thumb over Sehun’s bottom lip, “that you are so very fragile.” 

Sehun frowns, pouts. “I am not.” 

“You are.” Youngho pulls him tighter into the embrace, flat against his chest. “And I love you. You and only you.”

He feels himself going a bit mad. There are so many questions to him, so many that build within Sehun. _Tell me the songs of your soul, the words written in you, the ones no one else can read. Tell me now, before the bricks stack to walls, stretched between us like uncrossable borders._

But Sehun can’t seem to say any of it, cannot force the thoughts from his mouth. He only takes Youngho within him, in the deepest parts of him. The places that know no lies.  
  


♔

Sehun wakes in the morning, and the bed is empty beside him.

“Youngho-yah,” he calls. “Babe.” 

There is no answer. And panic fills his lungs steadily, and Sehun chokes over the dirty water. Has he left? Has he abandoned Sehun here, of all places? So close to their destination? 

Sehun jumps from the bed, near tears, starts to throw on a robe, before Youngho emerges from the bathing room. “What’s all the fuss for, larkling?” 

Sehun stares at him like a mirage before he closes the distance between them, hugging Youngho close to him. “I thought you’d gone. I thought—”

Youngho laughs, cheerful, pulling Sehun by the shoulders until he can look in his eyes. “Gone?” He kisses Sehun sweetly on the forehead, hands on the back of Sehun’s neck. “I’ll never be gone from you, lover. Never. Not now.” 

Sehun doesn’t understand why that comforts him so, but it does, and he relaxes into Youngho’s arms. 

“You aren’t cross with me?” he asks. “Truly?” 

“I told you it was nothing,” Youngho says. “Besides, the trust between us will build with time. And I will earn it. I swear it to you.” 

_Yes_ , Sehun thinks, burying his face into Youngho’s shoulder. _Swear it to me by all the gods and more._  
  


♔

There isn’t much to say of the ride to Bichwood. Compared to the rest, it is entirely without interest: they ride, they stop, they water the horses and let them feed, they set camp, they sleep under the setting sun, arms around the other.

Sehun did worry, of course, that Youngho’s calmness regarding the letter was just an act, something carefully constructed that would only fall within the day or even the next, spiral into something awful. But Youngho treats him exactly as he had before: with love, with gentleness. Sehun does watch him, tries to figure it all out despite Youngho’s words, but he can’t seem to manage anything besides falling deeper in love with him, with every little thing he does.  
  


♔

They stop the final night before they’re set to arrive in the capital city, and Sehun feels a strange pulling his chest. He stumbles as he’s pitching the tent, nearly knocking everything into the fire.

“Larkling?” Youngho asks, alarm blatant in his voice. “Is everything alright?” 

“I—I’m fine,” he says. “I think I just need to lie down for a while.” 

Youngho aids him, moves him until he’s resting on the soft sands. Youngho kneels between his legs, a hand on Sehun’s forehead. 

“You don’t feel any warmer than normal,” Youngho frowns. “Are you quite sure you’re okay? What ails you?” 

Sehun doesn’t know, isn’t sure, but when they finally finish setting camp, mostly due to Youngho’s work, his eyes close almost immediately, and instead of his normal dark, untroubled sleep, Sehun dreams.  
  


♔

_I am in water. An ocean, I think. I float along the surface, breaking the glass that rests along the top. I am a force of disturbance in the pure, in the still. I hold my body as unmoving as I can manage, but even so, small ripples reverberate from me. I watch them as they skitter away. I close my eyes against the sun, shield my face with my hands. It is directly overhead, and it starts to pain my eyes._

_Suddenly, the light dims, the sun blocked, and curious, I open my eyes to see a boy. A man. Dark hair and eyes, a slim nose. High happy cheeks. Handsome, by any definition of the word._

_He is beautiful, and he is familiar, but I cannot remember his name. His face is so close to me, reminds me of the sun and the fields, of watered soil and fruits of harvest. But his name escapes me as he watches me, watches me drift amidst the ocean._

_He interrupts the light, and I lower my hands from my face._

_“Come home,” he says to me, but I cannot remember where home is._

_He holds my hands in his hands, body above my own. He hovers in the air, as if an angel, and I smile as I look at him. It is slow, the realization, but I have missed him. How could I not have remembered?_

_His name is Junmyeon, and he is my brother._  
  


♔

Sehun gasps awake.

“ _Larkling_ ,” Youngho says, collapsing to lay his head on Sehun’s chest. “Thank goodness. I’ve been trying to wake you now for a troubling amount of time.” 

“I apologize,” Sehun says, and he raises an arm to sling around Youngho’s neck. 

“Did you dream?” Youngho asks. 

Sehun makes a noise of affirmation, and for the rest of the ride, the rest of their _pilgrimage_ , he tries to piece together what it all means.  
  


♔

When they tie the horses to the posts, the broad golden gate to the capital city just ahead, the first thing Sehun smells is fruit. Candied fruit. Rich with sugar, bathing in its own juice. The sticky sort that drips down your fingers, sits on the lips like oil.

“Oh,” Sehun says. “It’s—”

“The festival is already in full swing, it seems,” Youngho says happily. He sticks his arm out to the side for Sehun to take. “Are you ready, lark?” 

“Yes,” Sehun says, even though he isn’t, nothing in this world could have possible prepared him for this. 

The doors open upon their call, and the wall of noise, of color, of _life_ that hits them squarely—Sehun’s never seen anything like it. 

The music that swells comes from a band of harps, flutes, and curled horns at the very center of the street, and it sounds like dawn, like daybreak, like the ever-rising sun shining on morning dew. They play before the largest fountain that Sehun’s ever seen, and he’s sure that the water shoots fifty pes or so in the sky, the water colored red and orange. Children of all shapes, sizes, and colors dance, ribbons and flowers strung through their hair, and they laugh, a beautiful little harmony with the instruments around them. Men shout along the sides of the streets, carts of their various wares: clothes of cottons and silk, jewelry of metal and gemstones, food and drink, the smell of which makes Sehun’s mouth water. 

It is the grandest thing, and Sehun is worried for a moment, then a moment more: _surely_ , he thinks, _surely I’ve passed, and I sit amongst the kings._

“What do you think, larkling?” Youngho says, a clever little smile on his face. 

“I—I think I’m not sure where to get started, babe,” Sehun says. 

Youngho’s smile is bright, and he stares up above him, checking the sun in the sky. “We’ve still quite a long time before we’ll need to settle for the night.” He takes Sehun by the hand. “Would you like to explore with me, little lark?” 

Sehun is sure he gives his answer with his face alone, because Youngho throws his head back and laughs, pulling him off to do it all.  
  


♔

Their first meal is a soup of shrimp wontons, bok choy, and thin slices of barbecued pork. The broth is warm, comforting even in the heat. Their second meal comes shortly after the first: rice, spiced and seasoned with ginger and garlic, pork belly, all wrapped up in banana leaves. Sehun thinks he might burst by the end of it, but Youngho keeps ordering more dishes, keeps plates of the delicacies coming, and the bottles of wine...those come along as well.

It is a joyous evening, to be sure. Perhaps it is the second best night of Sehun’s life, only his first night belonging to Youngho enough to best it. 

“You’re such a sweet thing,” Youngho praises, running his fingers through Sehun’s hair, petting down his neck. “Shall I get you desserts? Cakes? Biscuits? You’re so fond of sweets.” 

“I have the sweetest thing in the kingdom,” Sehun says, and he’s found confidence he never knew along the pilgrimage. He leans forward, takes Youngho in a surprised kiss. “I have you. The sweetest babe Bichwood’s ever known.” 

Youngho can’t hide the way the flush rises to his cheeks, and it fills Sehun with undeniable pride. They’ve come so far together, and Sehun feels as though he’s found parts of himself that have always existed, but he never knew were there. 

After they finish their meal, they walk through the grounds, and Youngho flips gold pieces to musicians, to children. Sehun watches him, the poise stacked up straight in his spine, and he tries to mirror it.

As the night settles, they make way to the palace, and truly, it is far grander than Sehun could have ever dreamed. Behemoth does not begin to describe it, the gold and the marble, and the accents of red. It is a marvel, a miracle, the tall columns and arches and the great tiled floors. Sehun could lose himself in only the mosaics, and he briefly considers the time the artisans must have spent to create such a masterpiece, such a wonder beyond comprehension. 

The rooms are countless, thousands and _more_ , and even though they’ve come just at the beginning of the Seventh, there are still places within the palace for them to stay. All those who reach the capital are granted home and hearth there, a show of generosity from their god. 

The man who assigns the room is rather tall, dark hair and dark eyes. His appearance looks eerily like the drawings Sehun’s seen of Baekhyun, handsome in every regard. His features suggest that there could be a seriousness about him, but he wears a friendly smile, eyes smiling too. 

“Welcome, and well met,” he says warmly. “Will you be requiring a room?” 

“Yes,” Sehun says. “The two of us.” 

“My apologies,” the man says, bowing his head slightly, “but I regret to inform you that, due to your lateness in arrival, many of the rooms have been filled. This is our largest pilgrimage yet.” 

“Oh,” Sehun frowns, immediately thinking of their secondary options There are inns. Taverns with rooms attached. They could find something, of course. And worse come to worst, they could camp outside the city walls until their audience. “Well, I suppose, we—” 

“If you want to stay within the palace,” he says quickly, “you’ll have to share. And each room is only equipped with one bed.” 

Youngho barks out a laugh, and Sehun throws his shoulder into him. 

“That won’t be a problem,” Sehun says, and the man looks between them knowingly before he bows with a smile, moving through the halls to show them to their room. 

The palace is sprawling, everything in sight golden and marbled, riches beyond even daydreams. Sehun marvels at it, staring at the archways, the chambers that they pass. There is a grand hall for meals, there is a courtyard. There is artwork, paintings and tapestries strung through the building. The plants are potted in large vases, each painted with scenes of the God of Light’s miracles. 

They pass the Room of Nine Flames, and the candle flames sparkle orange as they proceed. Sehun holds his eyes open wide so as to not miss a single thing, and he catches Youngho spying on him with a smile. 

Sehun smiles back, nudging his hand against Youngho’s. 

Harps from the courtyard play, and the music swirls and echoes in the halls of the palace. It feels like the King’s Table, like they’re in heaven after so long. So much suffering between the two of them. It is all over now, the paradise they’ve reached well worth the journey. 

The man stops them before a room, marked with six black crosses and four blue diamonds, a hint of the intricate system they employ to keep track of all the pilgrims. 

“Gentlemen,” he says, offering them the key. “Please, don’t hesitate to ask if you find anything unsatisfactory to you during your stay in the palace. My lord is very keen on keeping his people happy after their journey.” 

They nod, thanking him, and the man bows, taking his leave. 

When they step inside the room, Sehun realizes that no expense was spared in the creation of such a place. Everything oozes with luxury, and Sehun hurriedly begins his exploration. There is a dressing room, mirrors shined to perfection, almost as though he could reach through and touch a copy of himself. There is a vanity made of what appears to be solid gold, and along it, there are numerous jars and bottles, lotions and creams and perfumes and oils. Sehun screws one open, touches the contents. It feels like silk, smells of roses. He wanders through the rest of the room, only to note that there is a bathing room attached, with marble and gold faucets jutting from the walls. The bath itself is large, big enough for two, and Sehun looks to Youngho, imagines what they could do in that bath. Secluded, hidden away from prying eyes. 

Youngho is busy, running his hands across the sheets of the bed. 

“Is it to your liking?” Sehun asks. 

He seems to be in a daze, delighted. Sehun feels much the same. “Soft,” is all Youngho says, a little smile across his face. 

Sehun smiles to match him, thinks of all the beautiful, terrible things they’ll get up to in such a room, the sounds they’ll drag from each other’s chests. The things they’ll find within each other.  
  


♔

By morning, there is a scroll put through the slot in their door. It bears the gold pointed sun sigil of Baekhyun, the God of Light, and with that, they have the date of their audience: the very last day of the festival months. The very end of the Eighth, at nightfall. All the audiences are scheduled for the night, Sehun learns, after the celebrations of the day are at their close.

“What luck,” Youngho scoffs. “Suppose we’ve got to stay for a while.” 

“I suppose we have,” Sehun says, and he watches with interest as Youngho walks naked to the bathing room. 

He hears the faucets turn, and immediately the scent of lavender run seeps into the room. 

“Aren’t you coming, larkling?” Youngho calls. “There is so much to explore.” 

Sehun leaps from bed, not bothering for a robe as he heads to the bath to join his lover.  
  


♔

Youngho comes alive in the Bichwood capital, even just walking through the streets. The way he navigates, steps through crowds as he leads Sehun by the hand, it is electric. He knows his way around the capital better than he knew any other place, and Sehun lets himself be directed, pushed into shops and stores to be pampered and plumped.

“If I eat much more, I doubt I’ll be able to walk out of here on my own two feet,” Sehun sighs, patting his stomach. 

Youngho knows his favorites here: grilled lamb served with spiced yogurt wrapped in flatbread, tomato and lentil salad, deep-fried balls of fava beans and savory herbs. The wine is plentiful, weak and sweet like juice. Youngho delights in pushing plate after plate to Sehun, watching him with curious eyes to see Sehun’s reactions. But there simply hasn’t been anything that Sehun hasn’t liked. Everything tastes as good as it looks, and that is a statement of its greatness. 

“That’s no problem,” Youngho says, sliding up against Sehun. “I’ll carry you home, if I must.” 

_Home_ rings nicely in his head, and Sehun lays his head against Youngho’s, kissing him smally. If this is their home, then Sehun is thankful. He’s never seen anything more beautiful.  
  


♔

Days bleed into each other as Youngho shows him everything there is to know, but Sehun cannot deny himself the carnal pleasures he’s learned to depend on. Each night, they retire to their chambers, oiled skin against oiled skin.

They find new ways to tease, to play, and Sehun likes them all because it’s _Youngho_. Just he alone is enough, the way he watches Sehun with hungry eyes when he enters Sehun, squeezes his eyes closed when Sehun pushes inside. He thought that maybe, that hunger would eventually wane, would turn to something more comfortable and manageable. 

Instead, all he finds is that he wants Youngho more. 

“No hands,” Youngho says, sitting as far as he can across the bed. “You’re not allowed to touch.” 

Sehun obeys the rules of the game, sits on his hands and only observes as Youngho strokes his cock to hardness, to wetness. There is a slick sound on the uptick, and at that, he groans, low in his chest. Sehun leans forward unbidden, as if he’s been summoned, and he lets his eyes graze down Youngho’s body the way his fingers would: across his shoulders, along the muscle of his pectoral, the dark pink of his nipple. 

He tips oil into his hand, fucks into the slickness, and Sehun starts to moan when Youngho does, desperate for even a hint of Youngho’s touch. Or Youngho’s body under his hands. He’s delirious, the heat roiling in his stomach as Youngho tortures him, frustration turning everything soured and cruel. 

“Please,” Sehun begs. “Please, let me touch you.” 

"No," Youngho says. 

"Please." 

"You can't." 

And Sehun obeys. Watches Youngho work his hand over his cock, take himself closer and closer to the edge, the pleasure sweeping over him, sprouting goosebumps all over Youngho's body. Sehun lets his eyes trace them all, thinks about tracing them with his fingertips. It would be so good. So delicious. And every part of him aches for it now. 

Youngho throws his head back, the long line of his throat waving as he moans, high-pitched. 

Sehun is only a man. He launches forward, putting Youngho on his back as Sehun begins to pull at Youngho’s cock. 

“You broke the rules,” Youngho moans, thrusting his hips up as Sehun strokes him. “I’m going to have to punish you, larkling.” 

“I don’t care about the rules, I don’t care about the punishment,” Sehun says. “I don’t care about anything besides making you come.” 

He doesn’t even fuck him, doesn’t even _want_ to fuck him, just wants to watch him spread like water, fire, lightning, earth, _light_ across the sheets, bleeding red and gold. Something magnificent, wonderful.  
  


♔

They manage to see the day mares, the fabled Bichwood horses, but it is a challenge, to be sure. Not for the lack of availability, of course: the day mares fly through the sky every day at high noon before trotting through the city to the gates of the palace. Their hair shimmers in the light like threads made of gold, and the black of their bodies looks velvet from afar. They are beautiful, regal beyond words, but Sehun—

“Your hands are too busy,” Youngho says, swatting him away. “Pay attention to the way they soar.” 

And they do soar, high above, cloaking what’s under them with darkness before the light shines once more. It is pure majesty, but when Youngho is standing right in front of him, his hips pushing out pleasantly, Sehun only sees _Youngho’s_ majesty, the beauty that he holds within his bones. 

Sehun rests his hands on the silk of Youngho’s robes at his hips, pushing into him lewdly amidst the crowd. But who could blame him? He’s got the only thing worth coveting.  
  


♔

“There is so much I’ve yet to show you,” Youngho says with a smirk. “Is this all you intend to do until your audience with the God of Light?”

“Yes,” Sehun says, and he kisses down Youngho’s body, licking at the swollen peak of his nipples, sucking at them until the tips harden under his tongue. “You taste so sweet.” 

“Don’t _flatter_ me,” Youngho grimaces. 

“But I know you love the flattery,” Sehun says, and he starts to skim his fingers down Youngho’s body, the soft at his stomach clenching to hard as he moves. “You always spend too soon _because_ of flattery.” 

Youngho pouts. “Well, _that_ certainly isn’t flattery.” 

“I thought you said,” he kisses down, licks a slow circle around Youngho’s navel, “you didn’t want any flattery.” 

Youngho is about to spit out a smart response, Sehun is sure of it, so he cuts him off at the pass. He grabs Youngho’s cock at the base with his fist, and he kisses the head wetly, making Youngho gasp. 

“Larkling, I—” 

“Do you like it?” Sehun asks. 

Youngho stares down at him, eyes wide. 

“Y-Yes,” he stutters, and Sehun loves it when he’s able to reduce Youngho to his stuttering. Stumbling through pleasure like he’s never known it the way Sehun shows him to it. 

Sehun spends no more of their precious time talking, licking idly along the tip of Youngho’s cock until Youngho beseeches him for more. Until Sehun obliges him, sucking down as much as he can manage. Until the wet heat of his mouth is too much, until Sehun swallows what Youngho gives to him, always desperate for a bit more.  
  


♔

They barely make it out of their chambers, sex through the day, sleeping deeply at the set of sun, but when they do escape for a moment, they always find something interesting. Some things, of course, are more interesting than others.

Youngho leads him by the hand to the pleasure shop, and stepping through the door, they’re hit with a wave of perfume that smells of vanilla and citrus. The shop is decorated with soft pinks and purples, and Youngho turns back with a smirk. Curtains are hung along the windows, giving everything a red tint, and it feels distinctly illicit to even be in such a place. 

Youngho runs a hand along Sehun’s spine, makes him shiver. 

“Don’t you want to find something special?” Youngho whispers. “We still have plenty of gold.” 

Gold hasn’t been Sehun’s concern in a while, and for a thin moment, he wonders what’s happened to him. Reckless with money. Careless. Quickly, he shakes the feeling away, crowding into Youngho’s space. 

“Will I get to use whatever I select on you?” he asks. 

Youngho gasps, the edges of it soft in Sehun’s hands, and he molds it along Youngho’s body as he touches him. 

The shop is unpopulated so early in the evening, but they wander through the place, stopping at everything that begs a question. 

There’s a group of velvet pouches, and when Sehun opens the ties and pours the contents into his palm, he furrows his brows. He turns to Youngho, gesturing. 

“Ah,” Youngho smiles. “And I suppose you want to know what you’re to do with them?” 

A dozen or so gold balls, none of them bigger than his fingernail, rest in his hand. 

“If I were to guess, I’d assume you shoved them somewhere you weren’t supposed to,” Sehun grimaces. 

Youngho holds the bag back out to Sehun, and he funnels the little gold balls back from whence they came. 

There’s so much to be seen: so-called “marital aids” of different dried animal parts and plants, teas like the ginseng mushroom sort they tried back in Shauto. Phallic objects made of stone and ceramic, some attached to belts, some stand-alone. There are ones that mysteriously vibrate, enchanted by something or— 

“I heard in poorer kingdoms,” Youngho says, holding one of the faux-cocks to Sehun’s neck, and Sehun jumps when the hum starts to settle into his skin, “they use bees.” 

Sehun turns, eyes wide. “Bees?” 

“Bees,” Youngho says. 

They burst into laughter, until the woman at the desk in the back of the shop shushes them. 

Sehun finds ropes that are as soft as silk. Paddles. A whip. Sehun finds rings that go around your cock, toys to fuck and be fucked by. There’s so much to decide between, so much that he isn’t sure what to choose. 

In the end, he leaves the decision to Youngho, who comes back to Sehun with a cage. Sehun watches with curious eyes as Youngho pays the woman for it, following Youngho back to the palace after.  
  


♔

It is a play, and they are the actors. Sehun’s never tried his hand at acting before, but he figures there is no better time to start than now. Youngho’s told him that if he wants it to end, all he needs to do is tell him _no_ , and Sehun’s heart takes solace in it: he can’t imagine Youngho doing anything that would be displeasing to him, but having an understanding is always comforting.

“This will be fun,” Youngho says, kissing Sehun quickly on the lips before he walks to the bed. “And just remember—” 

“ _No_ ,” Sehun fills in. “Yes, I have it.” 

“So, you’re ready to begin, then?” Youngho asks. 

Sehun has never been more ready, not a day in his life. He nods. It earns him a toothy smile from Youngho, who tosses his robe, his chemise, his britches to the side. He goes to the bed, reclines. An expression Sehun’s never seen settles across his beautiful face. 

“Well, go on,” Youngho says boredly. “Strip.” 

Sehun eagerly pulls off his clothes: Youngho is on the bed, naked, legs crossed, hands toying with the cage, and Sehun doesn’t know what the point is, but he knows that all Youngho’s ideas prior have served him well. 

After all his clothes have fallen in a heap to the floor, Youngho carelessly tosses the cage towards him, landing at the edge of the bed. 

“Put it on,” Youngho instructs. 

Sehun fumbles forward, already aching to please Youngho, and he grabs the cage, pulling it apart. The metal is unforgiving and cumbersome as he pushes his cock into it. He tries to do up the little lock, but his hands are only so big, and he struggles as he tries to fasten it. He whimpers, and it garners a laugh from Youngho. 

“Does the little one require my assistance?” 

Sehun’s head shoots up, and he nods with a pout. 

Youngho crawls on his hands and knees, patting at the edge of the bed until Sehun steps forward and kneels atop it. He deftly hooks the lock closed, and just like that, Sehun is trapped. He whines as Youngho moves back, lies flat and smiles coyly at him. 

“How’s that, little lark?” Youngho asks. 

Sehun lowers head head, lets his hair hang forward in front of his eyes, the flames rising to his face. He nods. 

Youngho stretches a leg towards him, taps his toes along the cage, and Sehun moans. 

“Does it please you?” Youngho asks, jaded, and it only further propels Sehun’s desire. 

“Yes,” he says, head bowed again in shame. 

“Beg me to allow you permission to touch me.” 

Sehun nearly falls flat to the bed in a show of deference, wobbling as if a leaf in the wind. “Please.” He knees forward a touch, then another. “Please, my love. Please let me touch you.” 

Youngho continues to tap lightly along the cage with his feet, moving it from side to side, and each time, Sehun groans. It would be impossible for him to get hard within the cage—the size simply won’t allow it. And yet, the arousal bleeds through him, red and gold. 

“More,” Youngho orders. 

“Please, sir,” Sehun says, and he bows his body, stomach flat against the bed. “Please, let me—” 

“Come,” Youngho says, gesturing suddenly as he spreads his legs. He holds them up by the backs of his thighs. “Lick.” 

Sehun swallows thickly as he moves forward without hesitation, hands gently covering Youngho’s before he licks across Youngho’s hole, pleased when he gets a soft moan in response.

He starts to lick hungrily, tongue flat against Youngho’s skin. He sucks at it, the noises vulgar as they echo around them. But where it once would have embarrassed him, now, it makes him hotter, drives him lower into the space of subservience. All he wants is to please. To serve. 

Sehun further pulls Youngho’s legs apart, feasts ardently as Youngho starts to work his hips down. Sehun responds, starts to play at the pucker with the poke of his tongue, and it makes Youngho clench and unclench his feet, toes curling as he sighs out, chokes on a breath. 

Sehun flattens his body, wraps his arms around Youngho’s legs, and licks earnestly. He doesn’t know how long it’ll go on, if Youngho could even spend from something like this, but he doesn’t think much on it—he lets Youngho control him. His fate in Youngho’s hands, free to mold as he likes. 

Quick, then slow, then back again, he earns every little sound that Youngho makes, and he treasures them. They seep through his body, thoughtless rewards, and he takes them to his heart. They sink down, down past his stomach, into his groin, and he is in pain, the threat of his erection pushing angrily at the metal of the cage. 

Stubbornly, he pushes his hips down into the bed, hoping to cause some relief for himself, but it only serves to worsen the problem. He is so very aroused, and more than anything in this world, he wants to push inside Youngho, make him moan. He thrusts his hips as he works his tongue, groaning. 

“W-What are you doing?” Youngho asks, and Sehun freezes, caught. “What’s that, hm? Can’t control yourself?” 

“I’m sorry, sir,” Sehun says, and he buries his face back between Youngho’s legs, not wanting to incur further punishment, earn more ire. 

“No better than a dog,” Youngho says, and then, he winds his legs around Sehun’s body, his heels in the small of Sehun’s back, pushing him forward. “Go on, lark. Do what your body commands you to. You clearly can’t resist.” 

_How could any god or man blame me_ , he thinks, rubbing himself into the swell of the cushion underneath him, the pressure almost enough to make him scream. _Would it be possible to come this way?_ He feels on the edge already, and he fears that if the cage were to come off, he’d spend immediately.

“Enough,” Youngho says, and Sehun is fast in movement, springing back from Youngho. “Fetch the oil.” 

Sehun gets off the bed, gets the cruet from the table. The oil sparkles gold in the low candlelight as he carries it back to his lover. He offers it with a bowed head. 

“That’s a good boy,” Youngho says, and it simmers along Sehun’s skin, praise effervescent. “Spread me open with your fingers.” 

Sehun dutifully pours the oil into his hand, petting between Youngho’s legs as he swallows a sob. He inserts a finger slowly, almost reverently as if he worships at the altar of Youngho’s body, this holy vessel of love and pleasure. It slips in, and he curls it, delighted by the way that Youngho inhales sharply, the way the sound splinters through the room. 

“More,” Youngho says. “Give me more.” 

Sehun answers with a second finger, thrusting them in steadily. If this is worship, then he will do well to honor him, make every moment better than the one prior. Sehun pays rapt attention to the subtle shifts of Youngho’s body, each tremor and tremble. Each sound, each breath. Gradually, he ramps up the speed, the strength, and it’s a sick little slide, the way he falls into it. 

He watches in hushed awe as Youngho suddenly cries out, shaking and spilling across his stomach just from Sehun’s fingers, the weak pulses of his body after acting as the unsaid cue to withdraw his touch. 

He waits, hands on his knees, for Youngho’s next direction. Is it finally time? Will he be allowed to withdraw himself from the confines? Will he be sent to bed with a hard cock and no release? He shivers, lowers his eyes when Youngho smiles at him. 

“Lark.” Sehun looks up meekly. “Would you like to make love to me?”

Sehun can barely speak, but he still manages an answer: “Yes, please, sir.” 

Youngho looks to the bedside table, nods at it. “Go. The first drawer.” 

Sehun hurries to open it, body tense with arousal, and when he finally pulls the drawer open, he finds a long, thick cock, made of jade. 

“Open me with it,” Youngho says, and Sehun whimpers. “Better than your cock, isn’t it? Your pathetic little cock.” Sehun whines, body so warm, warm all over, that tears come to his eyes as he stares at the sheets under his knees. “Oh. _Oh_ , Sehun-ah.” 

Sehun shoots up, and Youngho’s gaze is soft even though Sehun is so overwhelmed. “Yes, sir?” 

“Come to me,” Youngho commands, and Sehun has never disobeyed. 

He goes to Youngho’s open arms, and when Youngho folds him into an embrace, Sehun goes willingly. Youngho is even warmer than he is, the heat of his orgasm dripping through him. 

“You know I’m only playing,” Youngho says, and he whispers it into Sehun’s ear. 

“Yes, sir,” Sehun says. “I know. It’s just—” 

Youngho pulls him back by the scruff of his neck. “What is it, larkling?” 

Sehun can’t say it, can’t put the shame into words. _I’ve never felt so desperate. I’ve never found anything I liked more than this. Being put in my place._

“I like it, sir,” Sehun says. 

Youngho pulls him into a kiss, impassioned and moaning, and Youngho sharply pulls at the ends of Sehun’s hair to draw him up. 

“Put it in me,” Youngho orders, staring into Sehun’s eyes. 

Sehun looks down, breaks the gaze before he starts to go back towards the drawer. But he’s stopped, Youngho’s fingers pulling at Sehun’s hair again. Sehun chokes on a breath. 

“Not that,” Youngho says, and he looks down between their bodies, looks at Sehun’s hard cock. “ _That_.” Nimbly, Youngho pulls the cage from him, unhooks the little lock before tossing it aside carelessly. "Fuck me." 

“Y-Yes, sir,” Sehun says, and he reaches down, takes his cock in a hand. He rubs the head of it against Youngho, watches the way his body shakes in response, before he pushes inside in one slow thrust. 

“Oh,” Youngho moans, and he winds his arms around Sehun’s neck as he spreads his legs further, hitches them up for when Sehun sinks in, their bodies joined. “Sehun-ah.” 

For all the filth, for all the lewdness, for all the many tangled ways that it makes him feel, the sensation of their bodies together, Youngho opening to let him in—it brings him to happy tears.  
  


♔

He doesn’t catch a glimpse of Baekhyun, not even a hint of him. Sometimes, someone with light hair will catch his eye, and he’ll turn, but it’s never him. Never the god he came so far to see. It doesn’t _bother_ him, except for when it does.

“You would assume we’d see him even once,” Sehun gripes. “Strolling the gardens, or...or petting the day mares or something of the sort.” 

Youngho turns in the bed, flat on his back. “You’ve seen the hoards of people here,” he scoffs. “He’s probably busy with an orgy.” 

Sehun’s no fool, of course. He knows the rumors about Baekhyun. What happens after evening audiences. They say he doesn’t discriminate much, takes men and women alike to his bed as long as they’re of the utmost beauty. 

“What do you think it’s like?” Sehun says, and he strokes his fingers along Youngho’s collarbone. 

“What, an orgy?” Youngho laughs. 

“No, to be with him…” Sehun says, trailing off as he trails fingers down Youngho’s stomach. 

Youngho sighs, his stomach dipping as the breath escapes him, filling back up when he inhales. Sehun traces the movement with his eyes, entranced. 

“I don’t know,” Youngho says, drawling. “Do you wish to go to his bed?” 

Sehun lays his head across Youngho’s chest, arm slung casually across Youngho’s middle. “No,” he says, and it is bleeding with truth. “I’m quite happy with my station.” 

He falls to sleep, a kiss to his hair the thing that sends him off.  
  


♔

As the summer sets, the festival coming to a blessed close, it is much quieter than Sehun’s come to expect. All through the Eighth month, the celebrations go calm, more reserved. He lived deeply, and now, it feels as though he’s coming back to the surface. Truthfully, it feels like a breath of fresh air.

The squares, once so dense with humanity that it was hard to move within them, are now thinner with crowds. After receiving their blessings at the evening audience, they pack their things, and they leave the capital behind them to return home.

It leaves the grounds emptier and emptier, the capital city going bare as the day approaches. And then, without much pomp, the final day of the summer arrives and Sehun must reckon with the fact that their trip is almost through. 

Youngho kneels between his legs, a soft cloth wet with soap at Sehun’s chest. He washes him diligently, and Sehun feels emotions well inside him as he observes Youngho: the way he moves, the way he smiles. Everything about him is precious to Sehun now. And what will happen when the summer ends? When the harvest comes? 

“I can feel when you worry, you know,” Youngho says, washing down to Sehun’s stomach, the warm water soothing as Youngho smiles at him. “Tell me: what concerns you, lover of mine?” 

Sehun doesn’t know where to begin. The past three months have felt like a dream, a dream that had no end, no beginning. Something sempiternal. 

“Nothing,” Sehun lies. 

Youngho doesn’t push him, only continues to wash. He lifts Sehun’s arms one by one, ginger as he washes Sehun reverently. It feels like worship, like the deepest, most intimate sort of love. 

“I worry...I worry about what happens after,” Sehun confesses, and Youngho chirps out a laugh. “Is that so funny?” 

“Yes,” Youngho says. “It is.” 

“And why, pray tell, is that?” 

Youngho drops the washcloth to the water, lets it splash around them. He straddles himself over Sehun, a hand on the back of Sehun’s neck as he kisses him. He tastes like roses, and Sehun takes as much as he can within his hands, carrying it with him in the hopes that maybe, when the autumn comes, he’ll still have something to remember Youngho by. 

“My love,” Youngho says, mouth against Sehun’s ear. “My larkling. Nothing will take me from you. Nothing.” 

Where will they go? Will Youngho come home with him? Will Junmyeon even allow it? Will they spend the rest of their days on the farm? Will such a simple life be enough for someone as bright, as lively as Youngho? Could Sehun even do such a thing, trap a wild spirit just because it pleases him so? 

“Do not worry,” Youngho whispers, his lips on Sehun’s lips as he reaches down between their bodies, hips moving as if on their own. “My love, never fear.” 

But when Youngho is involved, all he can do is fear.  
  


♔

They eat in silence.

“What has you so quiet?” Youngho asks. 

“I’m always quiet,” Sehun says.

“Ah, not so,” Youngho says, and he tangles their fingers together over the table top. “You must know by now that I know you too well, lark. Are you nervous?” 

“Of course I am nervous,” Sehun says. “We meet him tonight. It is the culmination of our pilgrimage.” 

“It is,” Youngho agrees. “I can tell by the way you walk, as if you have a stick stuck straight up your a—” 

“We’re right next to the _temple_ ,” Sehun says. 

“The gods won’t mind,” Youngho says, and he pushes up from his seat to lean over the table, stealing a chaste kiss from Sehun’s lips. 

“How do you know what the gods would or wouldn’t mind?” Sehun asks, biting his lip. 

“They couldn’t possibly blame me,” Youngho shrugs. “Being around you is like drinking a glass of wine too quickly. It goes right to my head.” 

Sehun rolls his eyes. Youngho with his pretty words. 

“We should go,” Sehun says. “Take our rest now so that we’re ready.” 

Youngho takes Sehun’s hand in his. 

“Smart larkling. We should go,” Youngho praises before he agrees. “But I think I’ll take my rest in the courtyard today.” 

“Oh,” Sehun frowns. “Are you quite sure?” 

“I need a bit of sun,” Youngho says with a smile. “You won’t mind terribly, will you?” 

“No,” Sehun says. “No, not at all, you—” 

“It’ll take time for us to prepare, won’t it?” Youngho smiles again. “It’ll be good to be on our own for a change.” 

And it occurs to Sehun that they’ve rarely spent a moment apart in these three months that have passed. He hardly knows what to do. 

“Will you meet me?” Sehun asks as they push up from the table. “Before we go in?” 

“Of course,” Youngho says, and he presses a kiss to Sehun’s lips. “I’d never let you do it alone.” 

The thought sets Sehun’s stomach at ease. He has Youngho. He will be okay. 

“I’ll see you soon, larkling,” Youngho says, pushing him off to the door. “Go, go. Rest. Prepare. I know you must want to look your prettiest for him.” 

Sehun blushes. 

“Bite your tongue,” Sehun says. 

“Will you let him steal you away from me?” Youngho asks, voice lilting. 

“I cannot be stolen,” Sehun says. “My heart belongs to you.” 

“Ah,” Youngho says, smiling, “my sweet little lark. You almost make me believe it.” 

Youngho pulls him by the collar into a kiss, so full of emotion that it almost frightens Sehun. It’s lovely, lush like the flora in Leefside, dark and electric like the storm clouds over the flatlands. 

“Go now, before I refuse to let you leave,” Youngho says. “Rest well, lark.”  
  


♔

He rests most of the afternoon, but he can’t seem to close his eyes and fall into sleep. Nerves electrified and heart racing, he wonders what it will be like. How simply it will go. He tries to remember the words Junmyeon told him. Three months have passed so quickly and so much has happened.

When it’s time, he dresses in his most formal wear, a robe of gold silk that Junmyeon gifted to him three summers past. It’s the most extravagant, most expensive thing he owns. Baekhyun’s sigil, the white gold pointed sun, is embroidered at the billow of the sleeves. He pushes his hair back off his forehead the way Junmyeon told him looks best, and he runs the kohl at the corner of his eyes and smudges it with his fingers. 

He dips his fingertip into his pot of rouge and dots the cream along the highest point of his cheek and at the swell of his lip. 

He takes the bottle of rose water and mists it over his skin, fanning himself gently before standing back to look at himself in the mirror. 

_Perfect._

He turns from the chamber and goes to look for Youngho. Their audience is soon, and Sehun wants to make sure that they aren’t late. What type of impression would that leave? 

He strolls through the hallways of the elaborate temple, and as it gets later and later, as the sun begins to set, he starts to panic. Where could he have gone? Sehun’s sure that Youngho wouldn’t have gone without him. They promised each other. 

In the end, he stands outside the Sept of the Sun and waits. 

Another hour passes. 

The light of the day dies around him.

“It’s time,” the priest standing at the door says. 

He wears four red ropes around his waist, and Sehun studies them for a moment. 

“I’m waiting,” Sehun says. “I journeyed with someone.” 

“It’s time,” another priest says, more insistent than the one before him. Instead of a red rope, he wears a single gold rope. He puts a hand on the small of Sehun’s back and gently guides him forward. 

“I have to wait,” Sehun says. “I _came with someone_.” 

“There is no time to wait,” the first priest says, and his hand joins the second priest’s, and together, they push him forward over the threshold. 

Sehun stumbles into the throne room before falling to the white marble floor that glitters with gold flake melted into the stone. He takes a moment to compose himself and tries to steady his breathing. This is what he was sent for, after all. This is his moment. 

But then, Sehun hears an incredibly familiar voice, deep and rich. 

“Supplication?” he says. “So soon?” 

When Sehun raises his head, he sees Youngho sitting on a throne of solid gold that shines with pure light, almost too bright to behold. 

“Wh-” 

“Didn’t expect to see me here?” Youngho asks, amused. “And here I thought I was being so obvious.” 

Sehun moves to his feet, closes the gap between them just a bit.

“What are you doing?” Sehun asks as he panics. He waves his arms. “Get down from there.” 

“No,” Youngho says. “This is where I belong.” 

“That’s _heresy_ , be quiet,” Sehun says. “He’ll strike you down for that. The God of Light will be here in a moment.” 

He looks to the white curtains at the sides of the throne and expects to see Baekhyun burst into the room from behind them, expects to see him throw Youngho to the floor with a wave of his arm, burning him with his radiant, effulgent light. 

But that’s not what he sees. Not at all. 

Instead, Youngho just throws a leg over the arm of the throne, looking as if he was born there, like it’s the most comfortable place in the world. 

“Youngho,” Sehun pleads. “Come down from there.”

“Say my real name,” Youngho says. “Bid me forward, little lark.” 

“I—I don’t understand,” Sehun says. 

“You’re so clever, but you’re being dense today, aren’t you?” Youngho says. “It’s okay, larkling, I’ll show you.” 

There is no announcement to it, no snap of fingers or words murmured. All that Sehun sees is Youngho’s visage dissipate in the blink of an eye, a sun setting in an instant. 

And the burst of light forthwith is resplendent, gilded, and brilliant, like a beam shot from high atop the mountain. The smoke is glittering, lustered, and Sehun instinctively covers his eyes to shield himself from the oppressive daylight that pours into the room and fills every corner, every crevice, every space that seeks to hide. 

When the flash finally subsides, Sehun peeks out from behind the cover of his hands and sees the God of Light. 

He’s shorter than Sehun thought he’d be. 

“Wh—” 

“Kneel,” he says, and his voice is high, higher-pitched than Sehun would have assumed. 

But Sehun is quick to obey, dropping to his knees almost painfully. 

“So good with directions,” Baekhyun says happily. “I always liked that about you.” 

“Please,” Sehun says, confusion, denial fogging his head. “Please tell me what’s happening. Please tell me he wasn’t hurt.” 

“On the contrary, lark,” Baekhyun says. “He’s feeling much better now. Glamours are so hard to keep up, and I had to wear mine for three long months.” 

“You,” Sehun says, tears in his eyes. “You’re really him?” 

“I think it fairer to say that he’s _me_ ,” Baekhyun says. “Are you surprised, little lark?” 

“I...I’m,” Sehun says, but he can’t find the words to finish the sentence. 

“Feeling nervous?” Baekhyun asks. 

Sehun buries his face in his hands. He’s yelled. He’s mocked. He’s...he’s _defiled_. What sort of god would bless him now, after all he’s done? 

“Ah,” Baekhyun says. “Rise, lark. Come. Stand before me.” 

Sehun raises his head and looks at Baekhyun, really takes him in for the first time. 

He’s beautiful, of course, handsome beyond compare. His hair is so blond it looks white. His skin gleams, glistening and clear. His eyes are liquid gold, and the contrast between them and the dark brown of his brow is striking. He wears a mischievous smile, devious and pearly. 

“Come now,” Baekhyun says. “Don’t make your god wait.” 

Sehun scrambles to his feet once more, crosses the room to stand directly in front of Baekhyun. The throne sits on a platform up three large steps, so Sehun stands at the bottom of the stairs, head bowed in obedience. 

“Look at me,” Baekhyun says. 

Sehun lifts his head slowly. 

“Where’s my Sehunnie?” Baekhyun asks, head tilted. “He never would have been so...docile.” 

“I’m not being _docile_ ,” Sehun says before he ducks his head again. “I’m...I’m sorry, my lord.” 

“Lord?” Baekhyun asks, smiling when Sehun peeks up to see his face. “That’s new, isn’t it?” 

“My lord,” Sehun says, and he throws his hands up in prayer. “Please. You have a reputation of kindness. Of peace. Bear no malice towards me. Have mercy on me, Bright One. I beg of you.” 

“Sehunnie,” Baekhyun says. 

And then Sehun’s chin is lifted, one of Baekhyun’s delicate fingers directing him to meet Baekhyun’s gaze. 

“Lover,” Baekhyun whispers. 

The word falls from the mouth of a god. Sehun shudders with pleasure.

“My _lord_ ,” Sehun squirms. 

“What?” Baekhyun says, coy. “Are you not satisfied with the way I look?” 

Sehun closes his eyes and by the time he opens them, Youngho is back before him, the Youngho he first met. Ragged clothes and dark hair and dark amber eyes. 

“Is this what you desire, lover?” his baritone asks. “For you, I’ll glamour myself for this eternity and the next.” 

“My _lord_ ,” Sehun says. “Please.” 

Youngho disappears once more, a tiny puff of yellow smoke, before Baekhyun is returned.

“You look so pretty,” Baekhyun says, and he strokes along Sehun’s cheek. “Is all this for me?” 

“Of course, my lord,” Sehun says shyly. “You must know that your holiness has a reputation.” 

“A reputation?” Baekhyun smiles. “For what, dare I ask?” 

“For...for liking only the most beautiful,” Sehun says, ducking his head. “The handsomest.” 

“Ah,” Baekhyun tuts. “Quite true, isn’t it? Look at you.” 

Sehun stares at the marble floor. 

“Lark,” Baekhyun says. 

Sehun keeps his eyes low. 

“Sehun-ah.”

Sehun rolls the die. He looks up. 

“Kiss me,” he orders. 

Heat fills him, like the Burning One put a fire at his feet and looks to roast him living. 

“My _lord_ ,” Sehun says. 

“That’s right, little lark,” Baekhyun says. “Your _lord_. Do you intend to disobey?” 

His eyes are so dark, and yet, so bright. Melted gold, dripping between your fingers. Sehun thinks he may lose himself in those eyes, lose all track of time and space. He feels himself falling. Three long months. He spent them with a god. Laughing with him. Holding him. Making love to him. 

He was chosen. 

The thought is intoxicating, wine running through his veins. 

“No, my lord,” Sehun says. “I do not.” 

“Then do as you were bid, lark,” the God of Light says. “Kiss me as you once did.” 

Sehun smiles. 

“And how was that, my lord?” 

Baekhyun smiles back at him. 

“Like you intended to do it forever,” he says. 

Sehun steps up onto the platform. Towers over his beautiful god. 

He leans forward, presses his lips against Baekhyun’s. 

Obeys, obeys, obeys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, yes, you're all very clever. 
> 
> i hope you enjoyed reading part one, even if you had suspicions of mr johnny's true identity all along—my goal is always to write a fun, engaging, thought-provoking story, and sometimes im not entirely sure if i succeed lmao 
> 
> today i hit 100k total words on this, and im nearly finished part two, chapter two. ah. we've still quite a long way to go! i do hope you'll stick with me for the rest of their journey together. 
> 
> be sure to share, comment and subscribe, smash that like butto—[sniper takes me out] (seriously though, feel free to share with friends if u like the story bc i am completely and utterly dependent on the feedback of others to an unhealthy and comical degree)
> 
> i think i'll hold a poll for the posting times for part two, but regardless of time, it will post may 7th. ahhH two weeks! when i see you next, hopefully i'll be deep into part three! if not, you can literally send a sniper to my house (dont do this im sure snipers cost a lot of money and you probably have, like, other things to purchase) 
> 
> ok, signing off. have a great week, and i'll see you soon ♡
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfsupremacist) | [my curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/wolfsupremacist)


	4. book two, chapter one

Junmyeon’s hands are folded over the table top, and he stares at Sehun with critical eyes. 

“I do confess, I thought you would be happier to see me,” Sehun says. “Upon my triumphant return.” 

Junmyeon sighs, and he sits up just that much straighter. “In different circumstances, I would have been.”  
  


♔

It is not long after his audience with Baekhyun, the God of Light, that Sehun pledges himself to him. The ceremony is not very elaborate, intimate as everything they do together. And Sehun must confess, he was unsure of how their relationship might shift once the facade was dropped, the glamor undone.

Sehun kneels before Baekhyun in the throne room, the rest of the priests dressed in their formal robes. They face away from the two of them, shielding their eyes like seraphim. He’s seen their daily attire, simple linen robes with a rope of a certain color tied around their waist to denote their place among the temple-keepers. In the room today, however, their robes are silken, embroidered with Baekhyun’s pointed sun sigil. The group of the highest priests, eldest in servitude, wear white robes. After them, a group of men in gold. And finally, the newest priests, they are decked in red. 

There are so many of them, too many to count. And soon, he’ll be one of them. 

Even with his head bowed to Baekhyun, Sehun’s nerves catch up to him. He trembles as Baekhyun stands above him, reciting the words. 

“You pledge yourself to a year of service,” Baekhyun says, and Sehun keeps his hands folded at his waist. “You vow to serve me, hold me above all other gods. You vow to keep yourself honest and true before the eyes of me, before the eyes of all. And you vow to keep these pledges true, so long as you are living.” 

“I do.” 

“Rise,” he says, before he tacks on with a sweet voice, “my larkling.” 

Sehun needn’t have worried.  
  


♔

Junmyeon pokes at the fire, and Sehun sinks back into his chair, one that feels all the more rustic now that he’s sat upon the softest of soft.

He observes Junmyeon as he moves around the house, the kettle singing before he pours the water into the teacups, giving each a quick stir before handing one to Sehun. Junmyeon sits opposite of him, cup in one hand, saucer in the other. He blows gently over the steam, and Sehun sits in silence. 

“I won’t tell you what you wish to hear, only what you need to know,” Junmyeon says. 

“I am not as sensitive as you’d believe me to be,” Sehun says. "I've grown." 

Junmyeon rolls his eyes, looks off to the fire. 

“You have made a grave mistake. And you’re too young to know it.” 

He hadn’t anticipated Junmyeon’s discontent. He would have thought Junmyeon would be happy for him, would have thought he'd celebrate Sehun’s station among the richest kingdom in the known world. And yet, he sulks. _Is it jealousy?_ Sehun is beginning to wonder. 

“At least I’ve made a choice,” Sehun says, and he places his cup down next to him. “At least this is a choice that hasn’t been made for me.” 

Junmyeon laughs sharply. “Is it a quarrel you’re seeking? Because you won’t find one here.” 

“You began the quarrel,” Sehun says petulantly. “You began it when you pulled me from that orphanage. Told me what to do, how to do it.” 

“With one word of displeasure, I would have put you right back where you came from,” Junmyeon says. “But I never heard such a word slip from between your lips, did I?” 

Sehun bristles. He was only a child, he—

It’s irrelevant, far beside the point. He has no use for such petty squabbles. 

“I’ve already pledged myself to him, so I don’t come to seek permission,” Sehun says. 

“Good news, as you won’t be granted it,” Junmyeon says.

“Why can’t you just be happy for me?” Sehun asks, the childish anger boiling within him. “All I’ve ever wanted was to make you proud of me, to—to repay the debts I’ve incurred towards you. I could become something. Be someone. Not...not bother you so much. Let you have a family of your own, but...but you won’t let me. You just—”

Sehun looks up, horrified at the emotions rising to the surface. 

Junmyeon’s face softens at it, but Sehun has gone too far, said too much. He stands, brushing down the sides of his robes, and he desperately attempts to keep the tears in his eyes there, where they can’t harm him. 

“I will return at the end of next summer,” Sehun says, voice shaking. “I don’t know how much I’ll be able to write, especially at the beginning of my service. I know keeping a temple is hard work, and I’ll be doing my best.” 

“Sehun-ah.” He looks up, and Junmyeon has tears in his eyes. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to serve him. I know I’m not privy to the pretty words he told you, but I do know this: there is no shame in turning your back on him. There’s no shame in breaking your vow.” 

Sehun laughs, turns. There is only shame in that, nothing else besides. 

“Be well,” Sehun says, and with that, he shuts the door to the cabin behind him. 

He turns, and Jongin is standing there, petting Junmyeon’s horse. 

“Are you ready to return?” Jongin asks, looking at Sehun’s empty hands. “With nothing as keepsake?” 

“I’m ready,” Sehun says, and he reaches out, takes Jongin’s hand in his. In the blink of an eye, he is falling through the world, through the cracks in the surface.  
  


♔

After his return to Bichwood, bidding Jongin farewell, he makes his way to the priest’s entrance, away from all the city-dwellers and common folk. He enters through the wooden door, and there, he meets the priest in charge of instructing the new keepers.

Hyunso is large. Huge, actually. He is broad shouldered, well-built. He towers over even Sehun, with black hair trimmed short and dark eyes that look as black as a shark’s, the numerous thin white ropes around his robe indicating his position: he is among the most treasured. The most senior of priests. 

He is quiet as he stares at Sehun, saying nothing, only watching with those deep, endless black eyes. Sehun can not tell a falsehood in such a holy place: he fears this man, the man who stands over him, the man who watches him with disgust in his eyes.

He does not introduce himself at first, and Sehun only finds out his name later, from some of the other low-ranking priests. He only blisters past Sehun, a shoulder to Sehun’s. It catches Sehun by surprise, and Hyunso is so very strong; the force sends him to the floor, tears springing to his eyes at the humiliation.

“Your duties will be regimented,” Hyunso says, voice as sharp as a knife as he stares down at Sehun. “We rise before the fourth bell. Red priests ready the temples for morning worshipers. They usually enter at sixth bell. Red priests clean after they’ve left. Red priests begin to prepare meals at eleventh bell. At high noon, we pray. Red priests do the laundry in the afternoon, and after that, they tend to the animals.” 

“Animals?” 

Hyunso sighs. “How little do you know of this place, you fool?” 

_So little_ , Sehun thinks, but only just realizing it to be so.  
  


♔

Sehun doesn’t see Baekhyun at all in his first few days as temple-keeper, and the absence weighs on him.

After his introduction with Hyunso, he’s immediately directed to a chair, a mirror in front of him. Sehun sits, quiet. Scared. 

A small man with a few gold ties around his robe steps forward, spectacles low on his nose. He takes the scissors, begins to shear away at Sehun’s hair. The man flattens his palm against Sehun’s scalp, grabs fistfuls of his hair up from the root, and he cuts away at the hair sharply, the scissors practically against the skin. He watches the locks fall, watches his blank face in the mirror morphing to desolation as he becomes someone else, someone entirely different. And then, scissors set down, it is over, not much else to it. Sehun looks at the floor, the sinking feeling in his stomach dipping ever-lower as the moments pass him by. 

“There is a bath,” the spectacled man points, bored. “Wash quickly, and then put on the robe. The rest of your clothes will be burned.” 

“B-Burned?” 

The man only stares. 

Sehun walks to the bath alone, sandals making slapping sounds along the marble. The water is warm, and he attempts to stave off the rush of tears that leap to his eyes as he washes away the stray hairs that cling to him.

What has he done? What has he vowed himself to? He misses Youngho’s arms. He misses the warmth of the road. For only the second time that he can remember, he truly misses home. Misses Junmyeon. He sinks into the bath, under the surface of the water, and he runs his hands over his hair, the jagged cut of it strangely nauseating. 

He is alarmed to see the water tint red with blood, and quickly, he scrubs the blood away, squeezing his eyes shut tight. 

He holds himself under the water until he needs breath, bursting through the glass of the water with a gasp. With that, a sharp knock at the door resounds in the room. 

“Your time is up.” 

Sehun can’t place the voice, but he knows that they speak truth. 

He hurries to stand from the bath, drying himself with the ragged towel before walking to the stool bearing his clothing. He picks up the robe to reveal a single red rope, and the sight alone is singular devastation. 

For he is nothing. For he is no one. 

“Sehun.” 

He hastily threads his left arm and then his right through the crisp linen robe, fastening the red around his waist after. He opens the door, reveals another man that he’s never seen before. How many priests are there? Countless? 

“Come,” he says, grabbing Sehun’s arm and folding it around his own. He pats Sehun’s hand. “I’ll take you to the Red dormitories.”  
  


♔

The dormitories remind Sehun a bit of the common house he and Yo— _Baekhyun_ , he corrects, the common house he and _Baekhyun_ stayed at in Blackpool. There is the same joylessness, the anonymity of all the mattresses on the floor. There is none of the decoration, none of the beauty of the rest of the palace. It is noticeably colder, bare of art, flowers.

“Tomorrow, you’ll begin to work with the rest of the Reds,” the man says, and his voice is gentler than the rest of the men Sehun’s met. “For the rest of the day, you will be granted rest.” 

“Thank you,” Sehun says, and he bows low to the man, noticing the number of white ties around his waist. More than even Hyunso. 

When Sehun stands back to his full height, the man smiles at him. His face is kind, and Sehun takes comforts where he can now. 

“You’ll do well here.” He smiles brightly at Sehun, extending a hand for Sehun to shake. “My name is Joongi, and if you require help, you may call on me, little one.” 

Sehun’s sorry for how easily tears spring back to his eyes at the smallest kindness. Joongi’s hand in his, he bows again, touching the top of his forehead to their hands. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. 

Joongi closes the chamber door behind him when he leaves, a reverberation of loneliness, and Sehun goes to the bed that bears his name. He peels back the thin sheet, tucks himself in. Allows himself to cry.  
  


♔

He wakes at the chiming of the bells, rung four times. The rest of the Reds in the dorm get up immediately, but Sehun has to scrub at his eyes for a moment, bleary. He is ashamed to admit that he cried through the night.

The hundred or so Reds in his dormitory are split into groups to deal with various tasks in the multiple worship halls. He’s prodded along by the rest of the boys as they go.

It gets a bit easier, after the shock of his first day. There is a camaraderie among his group of Reds that Sehun watches from afar, too nervous to interject. There are four of them, and adding him makes five, and they tell Sehun what to do. Seniority among them is well established. The priest with four red ropes, his name is Shin. His hair is starting to grow out, more so than the rest as he’s due for a another cut, and he wears stoicism in everything he does. 

He is the one who orders Sehun around most, tells him what to clean and how to clean it. 

Two of the three-roped Reds, Joonwoo and Joowon, are brothers. They look near identical, small faces and shifting eyes, and they always stick close to Shin. They’re rail-thin, and often, they complete their tasks as a pair. 

The final Red, just two red ropes strung round him, is named Taeil. He’s short, shorter than the rest of them, and his eyes are much happier too. He introduces himself warmly as soon as he meets Sehun, shaking Sehun’s hand between both of his. It is a small gesture, but Sehun's heart is set at ease by his smile, and he returns it, even as his heart aches. 

“Come,” he smiles, arms full of kneeling pillows and rugs. “The beaters are outside in the yard.” 

Sehun packs his arms full of pillows and rugs before following close behind Taeil. In the little out-shoot from the temple, there are clothing lines hung between the walls, and Sehun looks up at them, plays at one as he looks up to the sky. It’s still dark enough to see some stars, the sun rise threatening them. 

Hung along the stone wall, there are wicker swatters, and after they’ve hung the rugs from the lines, Taeil offers Sehun one. 

“Go on,” Taeil says, nodding towards the rug directly in front of Sehun. 

So Sehun swats at it. He turns towards Taeil who frowns in response. 

“No need to be gentle with it.” He wheels back, whacks the rug with force as a minuscule amount of dust breezes into the early morning air. “Like that.” 

Sehun turns back towards his own rug, and he strikes it with all his might. 

“Excellent,” Taeil praises before facing his own work again. “Quickly, now. There’s much to do before the worshipers arrive.” 

Sehun focuses on the task at hand, diligently beating the rugs clean until Taeil directs him to another task.  
  


♔

When they eat meals, Sehun hesitates. Doesn’t know what to do. Should he sit on his own? Try to join Shin and the brothers? They don’t seem to want anything to do with him, so he—

Gently, Taeil steers him with a hand at his back towards an empty table in the hall. Taeil sits, stares up at Sehun. 

“Go on, don’t be shy,” he says, and he kicks the stool out for Sehun. “Sit.” 

Sehun sits, bows his head at Taeil. 

“It’s not all so bad as it seems,” Taeil says before gesturing to Sehun’s bowl. “Eat. You’ll need the energy.”  
  


♔

They scrub the floors clean by hand. The rags are soaked with a solution that makes Sehun dizzy, and once they’re finished and he steps into fresh air, for a strained second, he fears that he might faint.

“I swear to you, friend, it gets easier,” Taeil says, clapping him on the shoulder. 

A violent clear of the throat. They both snap their heads to it. 

“Silence,” Shin orders. “Get back to work.” 

They dust, brushing the place immaculate. They shine the golden sconces, light the flames. They wipe the walls. They clean the offering place free of flowers gone dry. They light the candles. And finally, after a great deal of work, the morning cleaning is finished. 

Sehun lets his shoulders roll back, tries to forget the taut pain in his back as they stand for the morning service. Farm work is hard, the sowing and planting, and the journey was difficult too, but the regimented labor of the Reds seems to stick to his muscles. 

It gets no easier as the day progresses, as they had to the galleys. The kitchens are pristine, of course, washed and scrubbed clean at the ends of their shifts. Sehun was nervous, for he’s never made meals for anyone besides himself and Baekhyun, but it matters not. He doesn’t do any cooking at all. 

Instead, he’s set in front of a sink as the older Reds make meals for the guards, for the priests, and for the least fortunate in the city. The meals remind him of Blackpool too, designed to fill and sustain instead of delight and captivate. Simple bowls of rice, eggs, and steamed vegetables. It still smells mouthwatering, and Sehun looks on in interest as he watches the rest of the boys work. 

Sehun is stuck scraping rusted pots clean, sweating as he works, applying as much friction as he possibly can. He gets nowhere really, not in the hour they’re allotted. Frustration boils within him, but he doesn’t want to show it. He won’t let them best him. He was chosen. 

“Go on,” Shin says, pushing him forward. “Walk.” 

Sehun hurries along, and Taeil catches up quickly, whispering to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “They’re cruel to the newest keepers.” 

“No, I don’t mind it,” Sehun says, brushing the sweat away from his forehead as he tries his best to look as accommodating as a person could, given the circumstances. 

Taeil smiles, bites his lip as he holds back a laugh. “You’re a better man than I, then. I felt like crying my whole first sennight.” 

If he knew it wouldn’t get Taeil in trouble with Shin, Sehun would hug him close, tell him just how much it means to have a friend in all this. Instead, he does nothing, only nudging his hand into Taeil’s as they walk, only for Taeil to return favor a moment later.  
  


♔

When they walk to the menagerie, Sehun is overwhelmed. Never in his life has he seen so many exotic creatures, such beauty of the natural world. The plumage of the bird before him is stunning, golds and greens and purples, and the feathers fall in a fan as Sehun gazes at it in wonder. There are a group of fire-lizards, each no bigger than his hand, and they cough smoke as they attempt to choke out a flame. Sehun swallows a laugh, the sulfur smell in the air. There is a python that slithers along a tree branch, glass enclosures of butterflies and locusts and spiders. Badgers and bunnies, leopards and fairfoxes.

“The kennel is to the left. The stable is around the back,” Taeil says. “That’s where we’ll be working today.” He grimaces. 

“Oh,” Sehun grimaces back. 

Shin looks at him, the brothers directly behind him, flanked. “What? Are you too good to do the work required of you?” He spits onto the floor, near to Sehun’s feet. 

He holds himself very still. Centers himself as Taeil grabs him by the hand. 

“No.” 

“Get moving, then.” And he turns on his heel, walks from the main room of the menagerie. 

Sehun follows where Taeil and the rest of the Reds lead him, out through the back of the menagerie, with the screeching owls and monkeys, to the stable. The size alone is shocking, but immediately, he is overwhelmed by the stench, and he wrinkles his nose. 

“You get used to the smell eventually,” Taeil says. 

“Do you really?” 

Taeil throws his head back and laughs as they step inside, out of the setting sun, faced with forty of the most beautiful steeds he’s ever seen and the mess that goes along with them. 

“No,” Taeil says. “Not really.”  
  


♔

By the end of his fourth day, Sehun is tired down to his bones.

Shin does not let up, his criticism constant as it is demoralizing. Taeil is a welcome respite from the antagonism, but still, there is not much that two can do against three. 

He doesn’t complain, keeps his mouth sewn shut. The only time he is truly alone is during baths in the evening, as they are given ten private minutes, hidden away from the world. Sehun takes them like a hungry dog, greedy for any time he can spend on his own. He is settling into it, but he feels worse and worse as the suns set. Body battered, bruised. 

They are worked hard from dawn ‘til dusk, and there seems to be no end in sight. He’s smacked with the crisis of it. One year, he had promised. One year of this. 

At night, he lays his head down, and he thinks of Baekhyun. Contradiction manifests within him. Love and disdain, honor and pain. Baekhyun knew what Sehun had agreed to. He knew the gravity of the choice Sehun had made. And Sehun had known that it would be difficult, no stroll through the festival, but he hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t even considered it as possibility. 

He wishes desperately to see Baekhyun, to speak with him. He doesn’t know much, but he knows that it would help. 

Is he even still in love? He had certainly fallen in love with the mask that Baekhyun wore, but what of the man, the king, the _god_ beneath it? 

He picks at the blisters on his hands, even though Taeil had told him not to. His knees are yellowing and purple with healing and fresh bruises, and his head aches. Tears sit in his eyes as he thinks, and his body struggles to find a position comfortable enough to drift to sleep. He lies there for a while, the soft sounds of sleep from the rest of the Reds enough to keep him company.  
  


♔

Shin makes Sehun’s life quite difficult. Were it simply the manual labor, Sehun thinks he could adjust easily. He’s not so weak that a bit of work would make him cry. No, but the feeling of being targeted for hate leaves him feeling dejected in the worst way. Sehun’s never been _hated_ by anyone before, never been so openly despised.

Baekhyun always told him on the road that he shielded a pure heart within him, but it is novel, feeling so very fragile. 

It is frequent that Shin finds reasons to pick on Sehun. He makes him do simple tasks over and over again, no matter if he did them correctly the first time around. The monotony is draining alone, and coupled with the sheer anger, the spiked laughter of Joonwoo and Joowon, Sehun finds himself on the verge of tears as he scrubs at the galley floors or bales the hay for the horses. 

He swallows his frustration, all the anger, with thoughts of Baekhyun, and he attempts to do all the work to the best of his ability every single time. 

He is only a man, though. There is only so much that a person can take. 

They work in the lobby of the great room, cleaned every three suns, the job rotated between the twenty factions of Reds. They do their normal cleaning, scrubbing and dusting and polishing of furniture before they’re provided with buckets, and inside, there is a thick, clear polish that smells sour, smells of lemons. 

Each of the five of them are given thick leather gloves, and they don’t fit well, much too tight, but Sehun does not complain. 

Taeil hands a mop-like brush to Sehun, a short handle, like a wide paintbrush, and they start in a line at the far side of the room, so that once they finish, they won’t trample across their work. They sit, slopping the polish from the buckets onto the marble like a lacquer with their brushes before moving to the next section of squares. 

Sehun is busy, hawk-like focus trained on his task, when something collides into him so violently that he collapses, the bucket spilling in front of him as he crashes to the wet floor. 

Immediately, he turns, and of course, he sees Shin standing over him, looking down on him with a scowl on his face. 

“Look what you’ve done,” Shin gripes. “You clumsy idiot.” 

Sehun stares down at his chest, the polish seeping through his robe, getting onto his skin. Then, without much warning, it begins its burn. He makes a wounded noise of agony as the pain starts to bubble at him, and the anger, it too bubbles within him. He gets his feet beneath him quickly, shaking as the wet fabric starts to seal to him, and he can practically hear the sizzling of his flesh underneath. 

He closes the small distance between them, his chest almost touching Shin’s as he crowds into him. 

“ _You_ are the idiot!” Sehun shouts, a tremble in his voice. “You pushed me.” 

“I did no such thing.” And he gestures behind him, Joonwoo and Joowon still hard at work on their sections of the floor, their brushes working in unison. “And I’ve two witnesses who said you fell on your own accord.” 

Sehun wants desperately to wheel back and strike him, to bloody his nose or cut his lip. The anger rages within him, but before he can act, Shin’s eyes suddenly go wide, and he falls to the floor, body sliding backwards with the force. It shocks a laugh from Sehun’s chest, but it hurts so viciously that he immediately sinks the rest of it. 

“W-What did you do to me? What did y-you—,” Shin stutters before yelling. “You will _pay_ for this!” 

Sehun did nothing, did nothing but stare, but that doesn’t mean he won’t take advantage of such a situation. He stomps across the floor, winds his leg back poised to kick Shin in the side, but Taeil scrambles to his feet, arms carefully around Sehun’s body. 

“Come,” Taeil commands. “We have to get you to the infirmary.” 

It’s only after they begin the journey to the infirmary that the pain truly sets in, burning and bright like a star, pulsing through his chest. Radiant. Effulgent.  
  


♔

He can barely speak as they move, the searing pain enough to make him thoughtless and dumb. Taeil has pulled Sehun free from the top half of his robe by the time they reach the sterile clean room, and once they’re inside, he pulls him from the rest of it.

“Your chemise as well,” Taeil says, “come, off with it.” 

He helps Sehun move his arms, the rigidity setting in as the pain flits through him carelessly. The fabric is pulled from him, thrown to the floor. 

“Oh, no,” Taeil says, and Sehun is too scared to look down at the damage that’s been done. “Lie down, won’t you? I’ll fetch the healer.” 

He guides Sehun to his back on the thin cot, and he hurries from the room, leaving Sehun to wait. 

Sehun tilts his head up, too curious to put it off any longer, and he stares down at the angry red blistered flesh. He’s never seen a burn so gnarled and pocked, bloody skin curling and oozing. It is a sickening, bone-deep panic that sets in, the acids in his stomach rolling. Frantically, he throws his upper half off the side of the bed, vomits onto the pristine floor. He makes another wounded noise, looking at the mess he’s made. 

“Oh, you poor thing.” 

Horrified, he leans up to pitifully stare at Joongi, the kind priest with the kind face, who looks down at him with pity. Already, Sehun feels himself drifting, his eyelids impossibly heavy, and as he falls back to the bed, staring at the arched ceiling, the crisp, clean white.

Joongi appears over him, pets a cold hand against Sehun’s forehead, and Sehun moans. 

“Do not worry. I’ll get you sorted,” he says. “I swear it.”  
  


♔

The chill against his skin is alarming, and his eyes snap open.

“Relax.” Joongi’s hand is gentle on his wrist. “Do your best to stay calm.” 

Sehun’s body is racked with shivers, the cold seeping into him. He glances down, and he is being wrapped in gauze, an icy blue-colored oil leaking through the edges. Joongi pulls the gauze down tight, and Sehun is forced to suck a breath in. 

“Is it very bad?” Sehun asks, voice shaking. 

“It was,” Joongi says, and he sits back on his stool, sticks a finger into a jar before swiping it along Sehun’s oblique, pressing the end of the gauze there until it stays. “But do not worry. You will heal well.” 

Sehun breathes out, the gauze stretching with him. Almost all the pain is gone, and all that’s left within him is the frenetic adrenaline. He trembles, his hands worst of all, and he grabs the edge of the cot to stop himself. 

“H-How long will it take to heal completely?” 

He’s greeted by a warm smile, as Joongi pats him on the hand. “You will be as good as new within the sun. So rest well, and don’t think of your responsibilities. Surely, they will await your return, hm?” 

It’s a comfort, a humorous sort but a comfort nonetheless, and Sehun shuts his eyes, lets the cold, all the many minutes of _cold_ drip into him.  
  


♔

With the break of the following day, Joongi throws the curtains to the windows open, and the beautiful light begins to stream in. Sehun has not slept so well since his arrival, dreamless and peaceful. On top of it all, he slept a great deal, the first good rest he’s had since leaving Junmyeon behind him after their argument. He stretches pleasantly as a cat in the sun might, moaning as the muscles in his body ache happily.

“Did you rest well?” Joongi asks. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Joongi smiles as he crosses to Sehun, dragging the covers off Sehun and laying the back of his hand against Sehun’s wrap. So far as Sehun can tell, they feel dry, and Joongi’s smile goes brighter as he withdraws his touch, drags his stool close to the cot. 

“You don’t need to call me sir.” He takes Sehun by the hand. “Up you get.” 

Sehun pulls on Joongi’s hand slightly, body weak, and when he manages to sit up in bed, he stretches again, spine stick-straight. 

“Let’s see how we’ve done,” Joongi says, and gently, he peels the adhesive away from Sehun’s side and begins to unwrap him. 

The gauze goes darker and darker blue the closer it gets to Sehun’s body, and when Joongi pulls the last bit away, Sehun looks down to see fresh skin. Healed skin. No sign even of scars. 

“Didn’t I tell you? Good as new.” Joongi stands, crosses to the bin and chucks the used gauze inside with the rest of the waste. Then, he goes to the washbasin, washing his hands quickly. “You’ll be expected to return to your faction within the bell. I know it’s not much time, but—” 

“No, it is plenty of time,” Sehun says quickly, “I...I am in your debt, sir.” 

Joongi turns, drying his hand on a towel with a smile. “I was only doing my job. But I do see why he likes you so much.” 

Sehun feels the blush rise to his face at the suggestion. 

“Quickly now,” Joongi says. “Hyunso will have my head if I play favorites. Back to work with you.” 

Sehun exits the infirmary soon after he’s dressed in his new robe, but he bows deeply to Joongi before he goes.  
  


♔

Sehun is returned to his Reds before the end of morning service, so when he enters the temple, he spies Taeil and goes to his side.

Taeil does not react much, not much to any bystanders. He simply reaches to Sehun’s hand, grips it firmly within his own. 

“Are you well?” he whispers, barely audible, even to Sehun. 

“I’m well,” Sehun confirms. “Very well.” 

Out of Sehun’s peripherals, he can see Taeil’s small smile. 

It isn’t until after the morning worshipers have gone, the temple empty save for the Reds, that Sehun notices. 

“Where is he?” 

Taeil turns to him, lifts a finger to his lips. Sehun obeys. 

The brothers lead the way to the kitchens for the morning, quiet, and when there is a bit of distance between them, Taeil pulls Sehun down by the shoulder to whisper in his ear. 

“When I’d gotten back after escorting you, he was gone.”  
  


♔

That evening, when they retire to the dormitories, Shin’s bed is gone, the space where he once laid empty, and Sehun sleeps soundly, never wakes even once.

♔

It is a sennight exactly since his arrival before Sehun sees Baekhyun again.

He is in the yard with Taeil, beating the rugs as they always do, when Shin comes with Hyunso, hands behind their back. And around Shin’s waist, he wears a single gold rope. 

“Sehun,” Hyunso calls. “You’ve been summoned for a special task.” Sehun tenses, swallows, looks to Taeil. Taeil keeps his eyes low, doesn’t make eye contact with Sehun. “Do you intend to waste all the light?” 

Sehun jumps forward, only pausing once to throw a final look back towards Taeil before follows behind Hyunso as he leads him through the winding halls of the palace. The rest of the Reds look at him, Shin with contempt, Joonwoo and Joowon with parallel confusion. And Sehun shares in that confusion: has he made a grave error? Is he being sent home? He’d thought...he didn’t know what he’d thought. Maybe that _Shin_ had been sent home. 

The fears follow them along, skittering along the marble floors, until they reach their destination. Sehun realizes too slow, and Hyunso throws a broad arm across Sehun’s chest to stop him. 

“You’ve been selected by the God of Light,” Hyunso says. “Hand-picked among all priests. Do you recognize the honor, Red?” 

“Y-Yes, sir.” 

Hyunso looks him up and down. He nods towards the elaborate carved doors, these made of gold, cast into complex swirling patterns, laced with a glittering white metal. “You’ve been tasked with affixing his lordship’s attire for the morning. Do you understand?” He looks at Sehun, affectless and cool. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“If there is any conflict, you will find yourself in great trouble. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Hyunso looks him up and down a final time. “Enter.” He pushes Sehun forward. “Do not make him wait.” 

Fraught, he pushes through the doors, not raising his eyes to look around the room until he’s closed the doors behind him. He collects himself as fast as he can, turning back round, slowly taking in the majesty of the king’s bedroom. 

Previously, Sehun thought he knew luxury. Opulence. But he has never seen grandeur like the kind that seeps from every inch of Baekhyun’s chambers. It is dark, Baekhyun’s body prone as he rests. The bed is four poster and sprawls across the room, the gold posts strung with a sheer white canopy and panels. There are plenty of pillows, different shapes and sizes, some square, some oblong and the length of a body. They are all plush, shades of red. 

In the middle of the grandly sized room, there is a chaise lounge, a deep burgundy red, feet of gold. It too is stacked with pillows, these of yellows and whites. 

Even in the dim light, Sehun can see the gold fixtures on the furniture: dressers and a vanity, a small circular wooden table and two wooden chairs, a writing desk and a cart bearing wine, the bottom holding the flared ends of wine glasses. 

There are palms, banana leaf plants in the corners of the room, and there are landscape paintings hung along the walls. Sehun walks close to study their beauty, the elegant brushstrokes, and he sees them all signed, all with Baekhyun’s name. 

At the head of the room, behind the bed, there is a stained glass window, the same as he’s seen in the hall, except more richly colored. With dark reds, golds, blues, and greens, there is the pointed sun. Baekhyun himself. 

“Are you spying on me?” 

Sehun looks to him with wide eyes, and he drops to his knees. 

“Forgive me, my lord.” His head hangs low. 

He hears the movement, but he does not look up to see it, only waits until he feels a hand at the nape of his neck, fingers thin. Clever. 

“I was so worried,” Baekhyun says. “When I’d heard of your accident. I made sure that Joongi treated you, my love. He is the very best healer we have. He is the only one who is allowed to touch you besides me.” Sehun closes his eyes, and the sweet words filter in. “Are you well, my love?” 

And the tone of his voice is so different, so warm and familiar but _different_. This is affection he knows, second nature to him now, but it still feels strange. Foreign. 

“Did you take a vow of silence?” Baekhyun chides, and he lifts Sehun’s gaze, two soft fingers at Sehun’s chin. “Answer me.” 

“I am well,” Sehun says. 

Baekhyun is beauty incarnate, the raw ore untouched and unmarred. He bleeds it from every inch of him, and he smiles down at Sehun. 

“There is fear in you.” He strokes a hand down Sehun’s face. “Sadness.” 

“No, my lord.” 

Baekhyun makes a noise, one that Sehun can’t deconstruct, as his fingers slip from Sehun, as he rotates back to the bed. He is naked, and Sehun has no choice but to stare. His body is so different than Youngho’s, but still just as pleasing. On the whole, he is slim, slight, but he wears supple weight in his hips and thighs. There is a delightful shape to him that makes Sehun want to reach out and touch, just to see if his skin is as soft as Youngho’s. Or perhaps softer. 

Baekhyun lounges back along the sheets, and he looks like a painting, some approximation of oils stroking along canvas. 

“Is that all you’ll do?” Baekhyun asks. “Sit there and stare at me?” 

“Until my lord commands me.” 

There is deafening silence before Baekhyun’s glittering laugh traipses throughout the room, and Sehun has to bite back his own smile. Youngho’s voice was deeper, his laugh more rugged, but there are echoes of it in Baekhyun’s laugh now, and it reminds him. Oh, it reminds him. 

“Come to me,” Baekhyun calls, and Sehun goes easily. He stands at the edge of Baekhyun’s bed, hands behind his back. Baekhyun’s eyes rake up and down Sehun’s body, and Sehun feels it through his robe. “I’ve missed you. Quite a lot.” He strokes a hand down his stomach, stretching as Sehun observes him, enraptured. “Have you been treated well?” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

Baekhyun smiles. “Come to me.” 

“I am here, my lord.” 

“No,” Baekhyun says, and he pats the bed gently. “Come.” 

Sehun hesitates for just a second too long, and then, he feels it grip him. Strong, shapeless, formless hands close around his waist, and Sehun’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Baekhyun continues to lounge, eyes meeting Sehun’s, a smile dancing inside the irises. 

Baekhyun holds a finger in the air, slowing curling it towards himself, _come hither_ , and gingerly, Sehun is carried through the air onto the bed, the motion slick, smooth. 

He’s dropped at Baekhyun’s side, the bed bouncing under the weight, and he gasps for air. 

“Did I hold you too tight?” Baekhyun asks, crowding into Sehun’s space. “Did I hurt you?” 

“No, my lord.” 

“Good.” Baekhyun lays a kiss to the soft underside of Sehun’s throat. “My, I’ve missed you. I’ve wanted to give you time to adjust, but it’s been so miserable without you here by my side.” 

Sehun’s heart flares with love, and—Baekhyun is the same. He was never able to be anything he wasn’t. He is Youngho, and Youngho is he: kind, foolish, stubborn, beautiful, dripping with poise, with purpose. He moans as Baekhyun tongues along his neck, pausing to suck at the thin skin near his pulse point. 

“My lord.” 

“Mm,” Baekhyun hums, and he curls his arms around Sehun to play with his hair. “I prefer your hair longer. I’ll see to it that if they come towards you with scissors again, they’ll come away without hands.” 

“My _lord_.” 

The sudden flood of affection is delicious, confusing and beautiful. Baekhyun lies back, looks into Sehun’s eyes. The swirling, molten gold is entrancing, and he is under Baekhyun’s spell. 

“Or do you prefer this?” Baekhyun asks. “Whatever you prefer. You will have it.” 

Sehun’s stomach clenches pleasurably. His heart is owned by the most powerful god or king this world knows. And yet— 

“I only wish to do what the priests would have me do,” Sehun says.

Baekhyun frowns. “If I allowed that, then I would never see you.” He strokes those clever, nimble fingers along Sehun’s chest, playing with the fold of his robe, down to the red rope tying him all together. “Is that what you wish? You wish to never see me again?” 

Sehun closes his eyes, lets Baekhyun touch him. “I wish to see you every sun.” He opens his eyes slowly, and it is like the sun rises before him, the way Baekhyun fills with light. 

His skin shines as he smiles brightly, and he surges forward to trap Sehun in a kiss, one of devotion and love. He pushes Sehun onto his back, slides along him as he licks into Sehun’s mouth, and Sehun sucks in a trembling breath. 

“My lord,” he whispers against Baekhyun’s mouth. “My lord, please.” 

“Yes, lover,” Baekhyun whispers. “Anything.” 

“My lord, I’m tasked with your dressing,” Sehun says. “They’ll fault me if you haven’t risen in normal order.” 

Baekhyun stares between their bodies. 

“You need not worry, larkling. I think it’s quite evident that I’ve risen.” 

Sehun tries to bury a laugh, but he simply can’t. It springs forth, sharp and high-pitched before he thinks better of it, swallows the rest. 

“I must confess, I’ve missed your smile,” Baekhyun says, and he runs his thumb along it. “Do you regret your vows?” 

Each morning for a sennight, he has woken with bleary eyes. By the close of day, his body aches. He sleeps fitfully, nightmares of the desert in his head. He misses the road, misses the way they were free. Here, he is bound, by duty and by the red rope circling him, splitting him in two. 

“No,” he says, and it isn’t a lie. 

“Mm,” Baekhyun hums, his lips against Sehun’s for another kiss. “You can do as little or as much as you like. You can do nothing at all. You can spend every day in my chambers if you’d like. I’ll have the priests bring you breakfast and suppers.” 

He can only imagine the way the Reds would look at him. The Golds. Even the Whites. They would hate him. And he would lose his only friend here, besides the God of Light himself. 

“No. I—I made a vow.” 

Baekhyun is soft as silk when he smiles down at Sehun. He kisses him lushly, and Sehun takes the moment to indulge in the feeling, the warmth of his lover, his god in his arms. The feather bed, the smell of perfume in the air. It is concentrated loveliness, and the stark contrast with the dormitories is not lost on him. 

He has toes in two worlds. In splendor and richness and gold. In austerity and rigor and grey. 

Baekhyun stands from the bed, and the line of his back is terribly beautiful. Sehun wants to get to his feet to kiss along it, lick along his spine until he shudders and moans Sehun’s name. 

Instead, he dutifully threads Baekhyun into his robes, knelt at his back to tie the knots.  
  


♔

He rejoins the Reds at the sixth bell, and Taeil immediately pulls him to the side as the worshipers enter the temple.

“What did Hyunso want with you?” he asks, eyes wide. 

“Oh,” Sehun says, brushing a hand to the back of his neck. “It was a special assignment.” 

Taeil is quiet as he shoulders into Sehun, a secret smile on his face. “There are rumors swirling among the rest of the Reds, you know.” He looks to the floor, and Sehun follows his eyes, traces along the gold flake in the marble. “That you’ve been chosen by the God of Light.” 

_Chosen_ settles nicely within him. Yes, he has been chosen. And Baekhyun keeps choosing him, over and over again. 

“They’re all jealous,” Taeil says quietly. “That’s why you’ve been getting it so bad. They want to make you leave. They want to make you miserable because you’re getting special treatment.” 

What’s been so special about his treatment, he wonders. Joongi’s healing hands on his skin? Would anyone else have been left scarred? 

They both kneel when the worshipers kneel, bowing their heads to the floor. They can try all they like, but Sehun has the best thing there is. A god taking him to bed.  
  


♔

He doesn’t know from whom the edict came. He just desperately hopes it didn’t come from Baekhyun himself. All the Reds get a Gold now, to watch over them. Of course, their Gold is brooding and mean, with thin brows and a scowl on his face.

“Are you dumb?” Shin asks, scraping his fingernail against the bottom of the pot. “Have you no _pride_?” 

He chucks the pot back to the soapy water, and it splashes all along the front of Sehun’s robes. 

“Clean yourself up.” And he leans against Sehun’s back, crowding him along the basin of water. “Joongi isn’t here to protect you, is he? It’s just you. And me. And my word will always best yours, Red. Always.”

Sehun grits his teeth as he goes back to scrubbing the pot, redoubling his efforts as Shin stands back and monitors him.  
  


♔

Sehun wants to be as untroubling as possible, which is why when he is called back to Baekhyun’s chambers day after day, he goes, and he does what he’s meant to do.

“Sehun-ah,” Baekhyun chimes. “Larkling.” 

He is strong enough to resist the urges, to take Baekhyun into his arms. To kiss him until he’s breathless and moaning. To fuck him, be fucked by him until they soak the sheets in sweat. 

“Larkling, come to bed.” 

He walks to the bed, comes when he’s commanded to. Baekhyun opens his arms from his recline, and Sehun goes to him, curls himself small in the embrace. Baekhyun runs spread fingers through his hair, what hair there is left. 

“Rest with me,” Baekhyun commands, and Sehun shuts his eyes. “Are you well?” 

There is a part, a near overwhelming fraction, of Sehun that wants to empty himself of all the truth he holds, confess that he is _not_ well, that he misses his time with Baekhyun, that he is learning to hate this, that the work wouldn’t be so terrible if it weren’t for the Gold that perches on his shoulder, a raven squawking misfortune. But he will not use his station to become someone he isn’t. He will not become a spoiled mess of a man who punishes jealousy with cruelty. He will learn, he will become better. He will—he will be better. 

“I’m well.” 

Baekhyun hums, and he continues to pet Sehun’s hair, the hand sinking down to cup Sehun’s jaw. 

“Do you know how I’ve craved your touch every morning and every evening? Do you realize how dear you are to me, lark?” 

Sehun can barely look in Baekhyun’s eyes, the shimmering light of the gold nearly enough to blind him. 

“Yes, my lord.” 

“No,” Baekhyun says. “No, my love, I’m afraid you have no idea.”  
  


♔

He sticks close to Taeil, and they probably look quite silly together, the two of them, but Sehun does not care. He needs to cling to whatever goodness there is in this world, and Taeil is goodness through and through.

Shin finds ways to put Sehun in the most dangerous of positions, so it is unsurprising to anyone paying attention that Sehun finds himself sitting on Taeil’s bed in the evenings, wincing in pain as Taeil applies small flax bandages to the cuts over him, edges sealed with a finger dipped in honey. 

“You’re lucky they don’t trust the Reds with the big cats,” Taeil smirks. “Otherwise, you’d be _dead_.” 

Sehun turns his arms over, displaying all the claw marks from the little cats. He’s more of a dog person, he’s found. Taeil continues to slather him with the stinging solution, something Taeil says will help the healing along. 

“You could just go to the infirmary,” Taeil says. “Not that I mind helping, but I’m not as good a healer as Joongi.” 

“I’m not dead yet, so you’re healing me fine,” Sehun says, and he bites his lip, bears it as best he can. “And…thank you.” 

Taeil looks up at him, smiles. 

“You’re my friend,” he says. “This is what friends do.”  
  


♔

Every morning, Sehun’s solace comes in the form of his special duty: helping Baekhyun into his robe, working at tying the complicated rose knot at the back. He usually has to struggle with Baekhyun, has to goad him into dressing.

“Please, my lord,” Sehun says.

“ _Lark_ ,” Baekhyun whines, squirming as Sehun tries fruitlessly to finish. 

“My lord.” 

“I want to rest.” 

“My lord, I was instructed to dress you,” Sehun says. 

“Hmph,” Baekhyun says, looking back over his shoulder, a furrow in his brow. “And you listen to whomever instructs you?” 

“Yes, my lord,” Sehun says carefully. “As I have only just begun my service, the other priests hold favor.” 

Baekhyun laughs sharply, spins from Sehun’s hold. 

“Hold favor?” he smiles. “The only person in this whole world who holds my favor is you.” 

Sehun blushes, looks to the marble floor. “My lord.” He tries and fails to chastise him. For how do you chastise a god? 

“What tasks would you like?” Baekhyun asks. “I will make sure that you have them.” 

“My lord, please,” Sehun says. “The rest of them look at me with disdain already.” 

“Then I will blind them all,” he says carelessly, a flick of his wrist. “How dare anyone look at you with anything besides admiration.” 

“My _lord_ ,” Sehun says, unable to meet Baekhyun’s gaze. 

But Baekhyun will not have it, lifts Sehun’s chin until he stares into Baekhyun’s golden eyes. 

“Say my name,” Baekhyun says. 

“B-but, my lord,” Sehun stammers. 

“Say it,” Baekhyun says. “It is an order.” 

Sehun bites his lip before his sacrilege. “Baekhyun,” he says. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Baekhyun tuts. “Not that name. The name you once called me.” 

“My lord,” Sehun says. 

“Do it,” Baekhyun says. “Or I’ll be forced to strip myself and have you start your precious work from scratch.” 

Sehun looks to heaven, prays for strength. 

“As I command,” Baekhyun says. 

“Babe,” Sehun whispers. 

“Mm,” Baekhyun says, wriggling happily. “Again.” 

“Babe.” 

“You must know how greatly I love it.” He forces himself into Sehun’s space, making Sehun take Baekhyun in his arms. “I like to feel looked after. Cared for.” 

“You are,” Sehun says. “Well cared for, my lord.” 

“By the people? By the priests?” The pause is tense. “Or by you?” 

“By me. I cannot speak for anyone but me.” 

“Good,” Baekhyun says. “Good, larkling. I never want to hear from anyone else besides.”

Sehun lets himself be kissed by the beautiful god, his tongue slipping into Sehun’s mouth lushly. It has been so long since he’s had this, this deep, carnal pleasure that he’s come to know and love. They have been chaste since Sehun’s arrival, and Sehun—he wants. He pushes Sehun down to the bed, crashes overtop him. 

“If they’re being cruel to you, I will kill them without even a second thought.” He says it like it is nothing to him. “I’ll have them hung from the rafters in the hall. Just say the word, my love.” 

It’s strange, the way it sits in him. He isn’t so horrified by this side of Baekhyun, when he flexes the power that’s slipping through his veins. It’s alluring, to be sure. Baekhyun is warm, cold, childish, old as time. And Sehun’s knees buckle at just a flicker of his warmth. 

“They treat me well.” 

Baekhyun smiles, all his teeth showing. He is the handsomest, the most beautiful thing the world has to offer, and Sehun is at his mercy. Always. 

His fingers play along Sehun’s wrist, under the arm of his robe and along the cloth bandages wrapped around him. Sehun’s eyebrows raise in surprise, and Baekhyun, he is too smart for his own good.

He kisses Sehun again, clutching Sehun’s face in his hands, and Sehun holds him by the small of his back, pushes their bodies as close as they can possibly get. It feels like he is drowning in Baekhyun, drifting in his waves, sweltering in his heat, living on the surface of a star. 

“You are the worst liar this kingdom has ever laid eyes upon,” Baekhyun says. “You think I don’t know exactly what you’re doing every hour of the day? I kept waiting, waiting for you to cry to me, ask for my assistance. I waited. I never want to crowd you, make you feel as though I was watching over you, but you never complained. Never came to me seeking shelter. Did you really believe I would have you suffer when I am so close to you? Did you really believe I would let them _live_ without consequence for the ways they’ve harmed you?” 

“W-What do you mean, my lord?” 

“He’ll be punished.” He kisses Sehun chastely, love dripping down their lips. “They’ll _all_ be punished until they know your true rank. Until they know where you stand. Red, gold, white. It matters not. _You_ are the only one who matters. The only one, my love.” 

His fingers play along the red rope at Sehun’s waist, and he gingerly pulls the knot free, letting it fall to the bed. He rips Sehun’s robe open, tears the chemise in two down the center of Sehun’s chest, and Sehun gasps at the sudden show of strength, the way Baekhyun latches his mouth to the side of Sehun’s neck to suck. 

“I’ve only ever wanted to find someone to love,” he whispers, and the vibrations move against Sehun’s skin. “And now that I’ve found you, I’ll never let you go.” 

The words of possession makes Sehun moan, makes him writhe underneath Baekhyun’s body as he touches him, soft hands up and down Sehun’s torso. 

“I’ll make them pay,” Baekhyun says, and he kisses down Sehun’s neck. “I’ll make them wish they’d never pledged a vow to me.” 

Sehun arches, pressing ever closer to Baekhyun. It is fiery hot, the thought of vengeance. But… 

“You mustn’t, my lord, please,” he cries. “Please. You can’t.” 

“Can’t?” Baekhyun straddles Sehun’s body, holds Sehun’s face in his hands. “ _Can’t_? You beg for mercy? On behalf of _them_?” He spits it out, like the words are poisonous to him. “My sweet, you must be ill.” 

He strokes a finger down Sehun’s breastbone, along Sehun’s bottom left rib when he sucks in air. 

“Joongi told me,” Baekhyun says, “told me what it looked like when you came to him. Like you were being eaten alive by your own skin.” Sehun shivers as Baekhyun continues to trace along his bones, reverent and delicious. “Do you remember the pain?” 

He shivers out a response. “Yes, my lord.”

“And was it the worst pain you’ve ever felt?” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

“Did you weep, my lark?” 

Sehun squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, tries not to live the moment again, even though the agony courses through him at the mention. “Yes, my lord.” 

Baekhyun lays his chest on Sehun’s, the warmth echoing through Sehun like joy itself. He kisses Sehun hard, kisses him fast, grinds his body into Sehun’s. 

“Then why, pray tell, should I not make them weep as they’ve made you weep?” Baekhyun whispers, his lips moving against Sehun’s. “Why should I not give them the worst pain they’ve ever felt?” 

Sehun moans brokenly, and Baekhyun swallows it with another kiss. His hand against Sehun’s cock. 

“They’re only jealous of me,” Sehun gasps. “They’re only jealous because I have you, my lord.” 

“And does that give them the right to hurt you?” 

“N-No, my lord, but—” 

“But nothing,” Baekhyun says, and he kisses Sehun chastely. “Since you begged so prettily for their mercy, I’ll only cut off a hand. And Hyunso...I told him to deal with it quietly. I told him to take care of it. And what’s he done? Disappointed me over and over again. Played favorites with that new Gold. Not even waiting for the Triad. A mistake. A grave mistake.” 

“My lord, please.” 

“He knew,” Baekhyun smiles. “They all knew of your pain. Ensured it. For that, a hand will be their penance.” 

He can’t allow this. He can’t just lie there and accept it. Sehun swiftly rolls Baekhyun, settling beneath Baekhyun’s spread legs, his white-blond hair splayed against his pillow. He grins, mischievous. 

“The last time a man put me onto my back,” Baekhyun says, “I burned him alive so quickly that he fell to me as a storm of ash. In an instant. The blink of a fucking eye, my larkling.” 

There is so much raw power within him, in the lithe body that rests beneath Sehun’s. 

“You wouldn’t turn me to ash. Would you, my lord?” 

Baekhyun’s face goes soft with the ripples of a gentle smile, and he holds Sehun by the cheek, a thumb at Sehun’s lips. “No, lover. Not you. Never you.” 

Sehun dips down, and he kisses his god, licks along his lips until he opens beneath him. 

“Do not hurt them,” Sehun whispers. “I will do whatever you ask of me. Please. Do not hurt them.” 

Baekhyun furrows his dark brow, surges up to kiss Sehun again, legs wrapped around Sehun’s back. “You’d have me let them continue to harm you? When it is well within my power to stop such an injustice?” 

“Couldn’t you simply...give them a warning?” 

“A _warning_ ,” Baekhyun spits, clearly unimpressed by the suggestion. 

“Yes, my lord,” Sehun says. “Otherwise they’d only come to fear me.” 

“And why shouldn’t they fear you? You very well ought to be feared. Look at the power within you. And your strength. Your character. Who else would have gone so long without complaint? No one. Not anyone besides you, lark.” 

“Please, my lord. I’ll do anything.” 

Sehun lays a kiss to Baekhyun’s throat as he thinks, and a little musical moan falls from Baekhyun’s lips. Sehun licks along the skin before pushing himself up to look into Baekhyun’s eyes. And he melts along the bed, liquid gold. 

“Do not look at me with such love in your eyes,” he commands. 

“If my lord does not wish me to look upon him, he must only say the word.” 

Baekhyun groans, fists balling in the sheets. “Fine,” he spits. “Fine, fine. But you must give me something in return.” 

“Anything,” Sehun says. And he dots a kiss to Baekhyun’s lips. “Anything.” 

“If you’ll let me have you tonight, I’ll refrain from serving them the justice they deserve,” he says. “If you come to my chambers tonight at twelfth bell, then I will forget the matter entirely.” 

It sizzles through Sehun. His first night in Baekhyun’s bed. His first time getting to make love to a god in his truest form. 

“Yes, my lord,” he agrees, because now there is only agreement, only obedience.  
  


♔

He lays himself to rest when the work is done, but his body thrums with nervous, excited energy. He listens to the sounds of the boys around him falling into sleep, but even when he closes his eyes, sleep won’t come. Visions, memories fly through his head—skin against skin. Heartbeats pressed against heartbeats. Wet heat, becoming complete. He tortures himself with the dreams, with the possibilities.

Finally, the twelfth bell tolls, and the Reds are all fast asleep around him. Cautiously, he stands, and he ties his robe around his waist. He does not wear his sandals as he normally would, instead pads barefoot from the dormitories, through the winding halls, until he reaches the lord’s chambers. He raps against the door until it yields to him, and Baekhyun is quick in pulling him inside, pressing him back against the solid surface. 

“You came,” Baekhyun marvels. 

“It was an order, my lord.” 

Baekhyun smirks, paints it across Sehun’s mouth when he kisses him thoroughly. “And is that the only reason? Did the promise of coming into my bed once again play no part in it, my love?” 

Sehun groans as Baekhyun pulls the rope from his waist, lets the robe fall open. 

“It did play a part, my lord,” Sehun says. “I’ve dreamed—” 

“Tell me.” He pulls Sehun’s pants down, and they pool around Sehun’s ankles. He pushes the robe until it falls from Sehun’s shoulders to the floor. “Tell me what you’ve dreamed, for I’ll make all your dreams come true.” 

Sehun squeezes his eyes shut tight as Baekhyun pulls his chemise up and over his head, and within just a moment, he is naked before Baekhyun, back against the door to his chambers. 

“I’ve been plagued by thoughts of you,” Sehun confesses. “Since I arrived, you have never left my head. I’ve wished to spend every night with you as we once did. In your arms. Spending every moment with you.” 

A hand strokes along his cheek, and Sehun opens his eyes, sees Baekhyun smiling up at him. 

“You look so small when you speak to me.” 

He plays with the edge of Sehun’s ear, pets down to the lobe, and Sehun shivers, the arousal already thick in his veins. 

“Everyone looks small to you, my lord.” 

Baekhyun grins, and he pulls Sehun by the hand back to the bed, the massive, sprawling bed. It has only been one fortnight, or _less_ even, Sehun hasn’t had the time to keep track, but already, he has missed this desperately. Obsessively. He would do _anything_ for this, withstand even the worst pains if it meant Baekhyun was awaiting him at the end. 

They kiss, standing next to the bed, and Baekhyun arches into him, and while Baekhyun’s body isn’t as familiar as his glamor was, Sehun finds himself deeply in love, deeply in _lust_ with the perfect, powerful being that shudders under Sehun’s hands. 

Sehun is overwhelmed by the way Baekhyun smells, the swirling scent of roses that clouds them, and it is then, unfortunately, that Sehun realizes how he must appear. 

“My lord,” Sehun says, chest heaving with effort, “may I make a request?” 

“I’d give you anything within my power, my lark, you know this to be true.” 

“May I use your bath?” 

Baekhyun pulls Sehun back to his mouth, and he kisses him hard. 

“Of course you may,” Baekhyun says. “I’ll show you there myself.” 

“My lord, it’s only through there,” Sehun says, pointing to the adjoining room. 

“Yes, but I would hate it terribly if you got lost along the way.” He takes Sehun by the hand once again, pulls him behind him through the archway. 

The bath is greater than anything Sehun’s ever seen, bigger practically than the ocean. It is built into the walls, inlaid with gold, shining in the candlelight. Sehun stands, waits in the archway as the bath is filled with warmed water, pouring in from the ceiling in a shower. It is different from the rudimentary baths he’s seen elsewhere, and the steam rises in waves as the bath goes full. 

Baekhyun walks to the cabinet, runs his fingertip along a number of vials of different shapes and sizes before pausing on one and taking it with a smile. He uncaps the vial, turns it on its side, and taps it with the pad of his finger once, twice, three times and each time, a deep rose-colored drop falls to the water, tinting it, swirling the scent of roses into the air. He caps the vial again, looks back over his shoulder. 

“I’ve never drawn a bath for someone before. Not before you. Nor have I washed someone. Nor kissed their feet. Nor worshiped them as I worship you. You are the only one.” 

Pride surges through him like heat, and he suppresses it as best he can. 

“Thank you, my lord.” 

Baekhyun giggles, walks back to the cabinet, and places the vial back where it belongs among the rest. He walks to Sehun, takes his face in his hands, and kisses him. “I do not do it for your thanks, my love. My lark. I do it simply because I wish to.” He turns his back to Sehun, again looks back over his shoulder. “Undress me, won’t you?” 

Sehun smiles. 

“Yes, my lord.” 

He is gentle as he begins the process of untying the intricate knot at Baekhyun’s back, fingers slipping as he starts to shake with anticipation. He calms his breathing, pulls, pulls at the cords until they fall loose. He folds them carefully, and he lays them on the dressing table as Baekhyun turns to face him. 

Baekhyun doesn’t wait for Sehun to finish the undressing, and perhaps he is just as hopeless as Sehun is. He pulls his robe open, chest bare with only a thin pair of britches covering his lower half. 

Sehun slides the robe off him, gathers it until he can fold it atop the rope. He is deliberate as he works, folding the creases back onto themselves, and by the time he turns back round to face Baekhyun, he is naked, pants resting along the floor. 

They look at each other, and there is nothing novel about it: they’ve been here before, Sehun’s seen him bared before, and Baekhyun has seen him naked more times than he could count. Yet, it feels new. A rebirth of sorts. 

“Are you just going to look at me?” Baekhyun asks, but he does not move, holds himself so, so still. 

Sehun’s eyes slide down Baekhyun’s body, down the gentle curves of his hips and thighs, down to his feet and back up. Up to his stomach, the spray of light hair on the lowest part of his abdomen, the plush muscle of his biceps, his thin, delicate wrists. His hands, soft as silk. 

“Until my lord commands me.” 

Baekhyun turns, and Sehun takes the chance to admire him more. His gaze runs in rivers from Baekhyun’s broad shoulders to the slim small of his back, down to the swell of his ass. There is only beauty within him, pure, concentrated beauty that demands attention and praise. And Sehun will give it until there is nothing left to give. 

Baekhyun does not turn when he addresses Sehun next, only whispers “Come” and lets it echo back in the room. 

Sehun follows him into the water, and it is sweet-smelling and warm as they sit, Baekhyun knelt opposite him, the tension between them thick and dense like an inescapable fog. It is quiet as they watch each other, Baekhyun’s skin against Sehun’s, his arm around Sehun’s neck. 

“Will you let me wash you?” he asks, the words against Sehun’s earlobe. 

“Y-You shouldn’t,” Sehun says. “It is beneath you, my lord.” 

Baekhyun scoffs, slices through the water as he goes to the row of soaps and oils along the edge of the bath. He opens one, pours it between his hands and starts to rub them together until a thick lather forms. 

“Lift your leg,” he orders, and Sehun obeys as he’s meant to. 

Gingerly, Baekhyun washes him, hands soft as the air fills with the scent of jasmine. He massages into Sehun’s skin, pulling at the muscles of his calves and then, his feet. 

“Nothing concerning you is beneath me,” he says. “Or if it is, if anyone would chide me for it, I will lift you so high above them all that they can only see the bottoms of your feet.” 

He pushes his thumbs into the arch of Sehun’s feet, kneads out the rigidity in him until he lies pliant against the stone wall of the bath, threatening to slip into the water. 

“You have given this world new meaning,” Baekhyun says. “New purpose. And I won’t listen to words against you. I’ll do what I like with you. Treat you as I like, paying no mind to what anyone besides you has to say on the matter. Is it settled?” 

He slips Sehun’s leg back under the rose-colored water, washes him clean. Baekhyun cocks an eyebrow at him, expectant. 

“Yes, my lord. It’s settled.” 

Baekhyun climbs into Sehun’s lap, kisses him slowly, sweetly. It grows in passion, and he is tense all over, the arousal in him simmering almost as though the water is set over open flame. Baekhyun holds him by the nape of the neck, tilts his head back until he gasps into the kiss. He’s never felt so _ravished_ , so _taken_ and _seized_. He moans, desperate for more, and he holds Baekhyun by the hips, pulling him down into lust. 

“Minx,” Baekhyun whispers, and Sehun trembles as he says it. Baekhyun trails fingers down the sensitive sides of Sehun’s neck, down to skate along his collarbones. “What would you have me do? Take you _here_?” 

Sehun surges up to him, hands quick as they hold Baekhyun by the jaw. Baekhyun groans, pushing against Sehun as they kiss. Sehun pulls back breathless, and he doesn’t think he’ll find breath here, not when he’s with Baekhyun. 

“Wherever you’ll have me, my lord. I’m yours.” 

Baekhyun grins, catlike, and they wash each other, carefree freedom from constraint, the promise of what comes after enough to spur them on. It is messy, of course, and they cannot keep their hands from each other, nor their mouths, but Sehun is scrubbed clean by the end, smelling as sweetly as Baekhyun does. 

They pat each other dry with the softest of towels, and when Baekhyun leads Sehun to the bed with a casual hand, lust billows around them just like the panels of fabric do as they hang from the canopy. 

Sehun lays his body squarely in the center of the bed before being told where to go, knowing inherently where the night will take them. Baekhyun crawls over him, back slinking the way he’s seen only in panthers. 

Baekhyun kisses him slowly after climbing overtop him, their bodies still so far apart as he holds himself up. Sehun resists the intense urge to pull Baekhyun to him, press their bodies together until they can’t come apart, but he resists it only just so. He lets Baekhyun command him silently, and Sehun arches when Baekhyun’s body directs him to, curls his tongue into Baekhyun’s mouth when he demands it. He is recklessly aroused, whining as he kisses Baekhyun, whimpering out his need. 

“What do you desire?” Baekhyun asks, finally settling his weight over Sehun to a chorus of moans. The heat of their skin, the wait and the release. “Was this all you craved?” 

“No, my lord. I want all of you.” 

“Mm,” Baekhyun hums, and they wrap their arms around each other, Baekhyun’s lips by Sehun’s ear. “All of me? Are you able to handle such a thing?” 

Baekhyun grinds his hips into Sehun’s, the lengths of their arousal pushing against one another. Summer has past, a fortnight of turmoil behind him, and now Baekhyun is back in his arms, and his world seems settled, the sediment left after wine’s been poured. 

“If I’m not able, my lord, then at least I’ll die happily in your arms,” Sehun says, and he pours, pours, pours himself out, cream just for Baekhyun to lap at. 

“You’re foolish, and you are sweet,” Baekhyun says, and he gets his knees under him as he starts to push against Sehun in earnest. “And so, so pretty.” 

Sehun throws his head back and moans, and Baekhyun is immediate in his action, swooping down to kiss along Sehun’s bared throat. 

“I’ll have my kitten tonight,” Baekhyun whispers, his words reverberating along Sehun’s skin, delicious and as tempting as sin. “I’ll make him purr.” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

“Spread your legs for me, lover.” And Sehun wants to, but he’s caught between wanting to latch himself to Baekhyun, hold him there to the cradle of his hips. 

He bites his bottom lip as he capitulates, spreads his legs under Baekhyun’s order, hitching them up around Baekhyun’s body and digging his heels into the bed.

“There,” Baekhyun says, and his hands skim along Sehun’s body as he sits up, grabs Sehun by the backs of his thighs. “There, look at you. A work of art.” 

Sehun throws an arm over his face, hides as Baekhyun moves back from the bed.

Baekhyun gets the oil from the table next to them, and he pours it onto his fingers before he slicks against Sehun’s hole. He gasps, oversensitive—he hasn’t touched himself since the last time they laid together, when it was _Youngho_ embedded underneath his skin. He arches his back madly, burrowing his heels further into the bed, legs bent at the knee as Baekhyun simply teases along him. 

“Is this what you wished for?” Baekhyun asks. “Did you dream of it as I have?” 

“Yes, my lord. Yes, please.” 

“More. Beg for it.” 

“Please,” Sehun says, mad with need. “Please, my lord, I need you.” 

He’s rewarded with a thin finger slipping into him, curling up in that same intimate way. Sehun thrashes wildly as Baekhyun strokes inside him, even just the tip of his finger enough to take Sehun apart.

It’s a winding, twisting pleasure that sings through him, resounding as Baekhyun slips another finger inside him, the wet sound making Sehun’s face go even hotter. He opens Sehun with careful, cautious hands, like Sehun might break beneath him, shatter like glass. 

It is a form of worship, he realizes, the way Baekhyun strokes him and pushes inside with stretching fingers, kisses along the insides of Sehun’s thighs. He nudges them open wider with his shoulders, ensconcing himself between Sehun’s legs until his mouth plays closer and closer to where he prepares Sehun. 

Sehun struggles to argue, to scold him, but fraught sounds of lust are the only thing that escape him as Baekhyun licks along where his fingers meet Sehun’s flesh. 

He cannot withstand it any longer, folds his legs across Baekhyun’s back, trembles as Baekhyun touches him, pleasures him, makes him beg for more. 

When Baekhyun finally sheathes himself within Sehun’s body, it is a homecoming heralded by the music of their moans, the swell of heat that makes him go tingling-numb. Sehun holds Baekhyun as tightly as he can manage, his limbs already weak with love, before he falls back to the bed, arms and legs thrown wide, hands tangling in the sheets as the world moves, moves, moves around him. 

The slap of their skin is a thick, weighty sound in his ears, and he can only distantly hear the praise that Baekhyun showers onto him, droplets of his beauty, his importance, the love they share. He holds Baekhyun’s hands, their fingers laced together, as Baekhyun thrusts into him, pulling the most awful noises from him, noises Sehun didn’t even think he knew how to make. There is an strong tension that pulses through him, and his body ripples as it moves, tightness fracturing out. 

Baekhyun pulls out of him sharply, and Sehun groans, and he clenches desperately around nothing, whole body strung tightly. 

“My lord—” 

“You wish me to spend so quickly?” Baekhyun gasps with a little huffing laugh.

Sehun gathers all the strength in him to sit up, and he takes Baekhyun’s face in his hands. “Whatever my lord desires most. That is what I desire.” 

He kisses Baekhyun, and the love in it could drown him.

Baekhyun turns him in the bed, puts him on his stomach, and Sehun arcs up, pushes himself up to look back over his shoulder as Baekhyun enters him once more, hands framing Sehun’s ass tightly as he thrusts inside. 

Sehun moans deeply, and it rumbles through his chest as he lowers himself back to the bed, hands tangling in the sheets once more, pulling them underneath his body.

It isn’t long before Baekhyun too lowers himself, his stomach pressed in a line along Sehun’s back, and Baekhyun wedges his hands underneath Sehun’s body, one at his chest, one at his cock. 

“You’ll come before me, kitten,” Baekhyun whispers, and his breathing is labored, spent. 

How have they waited so long to have this again? How did they keep themselves from each other when it feels so right to be in wrapped together? He is in the arms of his lover, his god, and the knowledge echoes in him, hitting the walls and coming back towards him.

He spills onto the bed why a sharp cry, Baekhyun hammering at him, and it is not long before he too spends, held deep within Sehun’s body. Sticky heat. Sweet-tasting. 

“Stay with me the night,” Baekhyun whispers, like raising his voice even a touch might scare Sehun away, a frightened horse. “I’ll wash you once more, and then...and then, let’s hold each other until you have to go.” 

Sehun is exhausted, more so than he’s ever been since pledging himself to Baekhyun, so his eyes slip shut without much argument at all.  
  


♔

Sehun only just barely wakes before the fourth bell, and Baekhyun watches him, pets his fingers through Sehun’s hair, which grows with ferocity every sun. If he’s meant to keep it short, they’ll need to shear him again within the next sennight.

He doesn’t want it, but—but he’ll do what they deem necessary. 

“You won’t let them cut it again, will you?” Baekhyun says. 

“They’ll see it as favoritism if I’m allowed to grow my hair,” Sehun whispers, voice raspy with sleep. 

“Then I’ll make a decree.” He plays with the ends of the short strands, a smile on his face. “There’ll be no more cutting of hair. Does that please you?” 

Sehun leans into Baekhyun, kisses him slowly. 

“Yes, my lord. It pleases me greatly.” 

Baekhyun kisses him, again and again, until Sehun is forced to wriggle away. 

“My lord, they’ll wake soon,” Sehun says. “I—”

“Leave, then,” Baekhyun smiles. “If you must.” 

“I would never leave if they didn’t require it of me.”

“And what of what I require? Isn’t it a priest’s duty to serve his god?” 

Sehun presses another kiss to his lips, delighted by the soft puff of air that expels from Baekhyun’s mouth when he withdraws.

“Yes, my lord,” Sehun says. “Whenever he calls upon me.” 

Baekhyun smiles, pleased, before he pats Sehun on the ass gently. “Go,” he says, “before I keep you here for the rest of your days.” 

Sehun hurriedly gets from the bed, fetching his clothes from the spot where he left them, just in front of the door. The robe is wrinkled now, but he wraps it around him all the same, tying the knot at his front swiftly as Baekhyun watches. 

He bows deeply, and when he stands back to his full height, Baekhyun is sitting up in bed, rubbing a fist against his eye. 

“Tonight as well,” Baekhyun says. “I want to see you again.” 

Sehun’s stomach pulls, the seams of it taut with heat. He bows a second time. “Yes, my lord.” 

Baekhyun nods, and Sehun closes the door behind him, padding back to the dormitories with just enough time to slip himself into bed before the rest of the Reds wake.  
  


♔

As they walk to the galley for their breakfast, Taeil nudges him.

“You were gone last night, weren’t you?” 

Sehun smiles smally. 

“I _knew_ it,” Taeil says, and as they grab bowls, taking a seat at an empty table, he nudges Sehun again. “What did he want with you? Tell me everything.” 

Sehun isn’t sure how secret their love is to be, but with the rumors swirling around them, he decides not to leave much to chance. 

“Nothing,” Sehun says. 

“Nothing?” 

“Nothing,” Sehun repeats. “I was...I was tasked with keeping guard.” 

Taeil makes a face, clear in his disbelief. “You mean to tell me that you, the lowest Red in the temple, have been tasked with the morning dressing and a guard position through the night hours. Even though you've never picked up a sword or spear, received no training of which to speak.” 

“Y-Yes,” Sehun says. 

Taeil smirks. “It would be easier just to tell me the truth.” He breaks the yolk of his egg with his chopstick, stirs it around. “You’re my friend, you know.” 

“Y-Yes,” Sehun says. “Yes, I know.” 

“I’d never betray you,” Taeil says. 

“Yes, I know.” 

“Well then, as long as you know.” And he begins to eat, leaving the matter where it lies. Letting Sehun do with it as he wishes. 

Sehun does the same, poking into his eggs to spill the yolk, but he doesn’t get far, pausing just after. He isn’t much of a liar. Never been good at it. And why lie to Taeil, a kind hearted boy same as him? 

“I have...“ 

Taeil’s head shoots up, and a bit of rice sticks to the side of his mouth. “You’ve?” 

Sehun smiles as he reaches out to take the rice from Taeil’s face. 

“I have fallen in love,” he confesses. 

“With me?” Sehun rolls his eyes. “With who, then?” Taeil asks. 

Sehun is quiet as he speaks the truth out in the open, not wanting to curse himself or the fledgling love. 

“With light himself,” Sehun says. 

Taeil hides his smile as he stares at his bowl. 

“I _knew_ it.”  
  


♔

When they go to the temple for preparations, Taeil and Sehun gather their arms full of pillows and rugs, and they walk to the out-shoot, but as they go, Shin jumps into their path, eyes bearing an emotion Sehun’s never seen there before: _fear_.

Without word, he bows sharply, bent in half at the waist. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, before standing, bowing a second time, and then hurriedly rejoining Joonwoo and Joowon across the temple.

“W-What did you do to him?” Taeil asks. 

Sehun bites his lip. “Nothing.” And he knows what he’ll discuss with Baekhyun that evening.  
  


♔

Sehun does his tasks, and he struggles to hide his smile. Now, he has much to look forward to, little struggle and little strife. At the close of day, when they’re permitted to retire to their dormitories, Sehun lies back in bed and thinks about what will come when the twelfth bell tolls, what pleasures Baekhyun will delight him with.

He moves as silently as he can when it’s finally time, and he walks through the halls, the journey becoming more and more familiar with every passing sun. When he finally reaches the grand doors, he taps on them lightly, knowing that Baekhyun will be listening. 

Baekhyun doesn’t speak, only pulls the doors open and drags Sehun across the threshold by the folded collar of his robe. 

“M-My lord,” Sehun stutters with a laugh, the door closing firmly behind them as Baekhyun presses him back to it. 

“Life is so _boring_ without you,” Baekhyun says. “All day, I spend all my hours dreaming of when I’ll see you once more.” 

The pretty words sink into Sehun, and he sighs under them. 

“And I, my lord,” Sehun says, “you are all I dream of.” 

“Then let me free you from these ridiculous tasks you complete each and every sun,” Baekhyun says, and he runs his hands along Sehun’s cheeks. “Let me take you with me throughout the day. Let me spend my days with you, my lover. My larkling. Give me what I desire.” 

“My lord.” 

Baekhyun studies his face before gently pulling him into a kiss, Sehun’s back curving passively. 

“No more of it tonight,” Baekhyun says, “but you’ll consider it, won’t you?” 

“Yes, my lord,” Sehun says, and Baekhyun smiles at him as he leads him by the hand to the bed. 

“Bathe quickly,” he orders, pulling Sehun free from his clothes. “I’m desperate for you, and it’s never smart to make a king wait.” 

There is no one more desperate than Sehun, of course, and once they’re finally sated, wrapped in each other and in sheets of white, Sehun can no longer quiet his questions. 

Baekhyun’s head is on his chest, and he scratches his nails lightly along his scalp, through the white-gold tresses. 

“You think so loudly, lark.” 

Sehun shifts under Baekhyun, pulls his arms around him tighter. “I’m sorry, my lord, I’ll think more softly.” 

Baekhyun turns onto his front, staring up at Sehun. 

“What are you thinking of?” 

“I was simply wondering what you must have done to Shin to make him bow to me twice this morning,” Sehun smiles. “He was as skittish as a field mouse.” 

“Oh, silly boy,” Baekhyun says, and he lays a kiss to Sehun’s pectoral. “Think no more of it.” 

“Y-You didn’t harm him, though, did you?” 

Baekhyun looks up at Sehun, his perfect brow furrowed. “No. I told you I wouldn’t. Do you think my word to you means nothing?” 

“Forgive me, my lord,” Sehun says. “I meant no offense.” 

Baekhyun turns back to his side, lays his head flat against Sehun’s chest again. “No, of course you didn’t. And I’m no fool, you know. I’m well aware of the reputation I’ve got for myself.” 

“No, my lord,” Sehun says. “No such reputation.” 

Baekhyun balls a fist, punches Sehun lightly in the middle. 

“I’m not as irrational and wild as they all think,” he whispers. “I do not _always_ act on my first impulse. I do not move thoughtlessly. I think much more than they all give me credit for.” 

“I know, my lord.” 

“And since I’ve met you,” Baekhyun says, laying a hand across Sehun’s stomach, splaying his fingers, “I’ve found it much easier to be merciful. I feel my heart softening with every breath you take. And—And I’m afraid it’s all because of you.”  
  


♔

The rest of his first month passes easily, as does his second; with so little obstacles now in his way, life in the palace becomes much simpler and much more enjoyable. Shin and the brothers leave Taeil and he at arm’s length, and Sehun watches proudly as Taeil starts to assert himself with more confidence. The days are long, often hard on the body, but he does not mind the physical labor, working happily with Taeil at his side, especially with the bookends of Baekhyun at the beginning and end of his days.

It does not stop Baekhyun from constantly directing him towards an abandonment of the system in place, a skip to the front simply because he holds Baekhyun’s favor over all others. 

He keeps his station, and he keeps his tasks, even though the temptation to spend every hour in Baekhyun’s company is great, to say the very least.  
  


♔

He and Taeil work in tandem for most of the day, and they work little systems to play to each other’s advantages. They talk, of course, grow quite close over the months, and they learn much of what there is to know of each other.

“You grew up close, didn’t you?” 

“I did,” Taeil says. “In the capital.” 

“Was it a happy childhood?” Sehun asks. He already knows that Taeil had a mother and a father, a younger sister, and an orange cat. 

“It was. We were quite poor, granted a lot of charity from the palace, so once I came of age and got the opportunity, I started to devote myself to service. Only just recently pledged myself, of course, but I wanted to make sure my family would be taken care of while I was away.”

Sehun smiles at him, thinks of him as a child. Carefree and running under the warm Bichwood sun. It is a thought he likes to dwell on for the moment, but soon it morphs. Moves. Shifts to his own childhood. To Junmyeon’s smile. Sehun doesn’t talk much about his own home for fear of an overabundance of emotion. 

He shakes the thought loose as they cook, Sehun recently promoted from simply scrubbing pans. He’s not a very smart cook, but Taeil leads the way, tells him what to do, and Sehun’s always been good at taking directions. They chop radishes in thin slices, so thin that they’ll nearly melt when they get thrown to the heat. 

“Do you ever think about...about getting away from here?” Taeil asks quietly. 

He pauses, clears his throat. “How do you mean?” 

“About serving at his side?” 

Sehun looks down, carefully curls his fingers back under and starts to slice again. “No.” 

Taeil inhales, exhales, and begins to work again. Sehun looks over, spies a smile. He turns back to his work, his knife against the board making that satisfying noise over and over again. 

“You know,” Taeil says, and Sehun resists the urge to watch him as he speaks, “before you arrived, it was me who was bullied. And ever since you came, things have gotten much easier. I think...I think I would miss you quite dearly if you left.” 

Sehun sniffs harshly to stave off the quick tears that spring to his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, only nudges Taeil with his hip. Taeil nudges him back, and Sehun feels the matter settled. He won’t leave Taeil, no matter what Baekhyun offers him.  
  


♔

Of course, Junmyeon always told him the devil was attractive, smooth-talking and sweet. Baekhyun tries his best to ply Sehun with sand-washed silks, with fine food and drink, with all the pleasures that the Bichwood knows. And a part of him aches for the opulence, the indulgence. It was all he knew when they stayed in the palace as guests. But as he rises each morning, he must remind himself of his place, even when Baekhyun seeks to make him forget.

“Look,” Baekhyun says, fingers skimming along the porcelain and gold-edged plate. “Your favorite, isn’t it?” 

Sehun looks at the dish longingly. The thin, barbecued strips of pan-seared meat, sweet and salty, sprinkled with toasted sesame seeds, lovingly laid over rice...it calls him. It’s been a great while now since he’s had anything properly mouthwatering, as everything the priests eat is so utilitarian. And yet, this—this is the opposite of practical. This is food to savor. To enjoy for the sake of it. 

“My lord…” 

“I had it made specially for you,” Baekhyun says. “Held the kitchens open late simply so I could reward you with it.” 

“My lord, please.” 

“What?” He furrows his brow as if confused. “Don’t you like it? After I’ve gone out of my way to get it for you?” 

“I like it, my lord. Thank you, my lord.” 

“Thank me properly,” Baekhyun says, pushing the plate forward towards Sehun. “Eat.” 

“I can’t, my lord.” 

“And why _can’t_ you?” 

“M-My vows…” 

“The vows don’t say anything of the sort,” Baekhyun says. “If you wish to resist me, you’ll have to be much smarter about it, my little larkling.” 

“My lord, the priests practice—” 

“ _Denial_ ,” Baekhyun whispers, and he stands from his chair, braces his hands on either side of Sehun’s own chair before he sinks to his knees. “And do you intend to deny yourself of me always?” 

Baekhyun pulls at the rope at Sehun’s waist, staring into Sehun’s eyes as he waits for an answer. 

“N-No, my lord,” Sehun says. 

Baekhyun takes the thin fabric of the robe in his hands, pulls it apart sharply before tugging Sehun’s pants down his legs. 

“So you’ll have me like this?” Baekhyun asks, and he nuzzles his face against Sehun’s cock, watches as it rises with the attention. “You’ll have me between your legs at night, but when the morning comes, you belong to me only as a lowly servant?” 

Sehun squeezes his eyes shut tight, and he bites the inside of his cheek just so that he doesn’t moan. 

“My lord.” 

“ _My lord, my lord_ ,” Baekhyun mocks. “If I’m your lord, then won’t you _listen_ to me? Let me spoil you as I desire.” 

“My _lord_ —” 

“Stop calling me that,” he orders. “Call me it again, and I’ll cut out your fucking tongue. I am yours as you are mine. Don’t we belong to each other?” 

“Yes,” and he hesitates over the honorific just to see Baekhyun smile at him, pleased. 

“If we belong to each other, then let me have you,” Baekhyun says. “Let me worship you as you deserve.”

“M—Baekhyun,” Sehun moans. 

“Say it again.” 

“ _Baekhyun_.” 

“What is it?” he asks. “What must I do to show you your worth?” 

Sehun bows his head, but it does him no good to show deference as Baekhyun kneels before him, licks at the head of his cock, mouths down the side of it. 

“My lord.” 

Baekhyun grips him hard around the base. “Do you intend to lose your tongue? When I’ve told you I cherish it so much?” 

Sehun laughs shortly, tight in his chest as he looks down at Baekhyun. 

“If you cherish it, then please, my lord, don’t take it from me.” 

Baekhyun holds his gaze, eyes sweeping molten gold as he puts the head of Sehun’s cock in his mouth, swirls his tongue around it. 

“Even gods must make sacrifices,” Baekhyun says, and then, he starts to swallow Sehun down, sucking all the air from the room. 

Sehun clasps his hands along the chair’s arms, holds on tightly as Baekhyun bobs his head, his nose brushing against Sehun’s skin when there is no more left of him to devour. 

Sehun holds himself carefully, does not rut into the hot warmth of Baekhyun’s mouth, and he cries out his satisfaction. Baekhyun’s eyes hold him, pin him down, and Sehun gasps, struggles, thrives under the attention. 

It’s slow, torturous as Baekhyun withdraws with a little cough, wiping the back of his hand against his wet lips. 

“How much longer will you make me wait for you? Will it be much longer? I’m quite impatient, especially when it comes to you, larkling.” 

“My service—” 

“Enough about your service,” Baekhyun says. “Nothing matters less to me.” 

“My lord, it matters to me.” 

Baekhyun sighs. “I know this to be true. I just cannot understand why.” 

Sehun finally relinquishes his hold on the chair’s arms, reaches down to take Baekhyun’s face in his hands. 

“It is my duty,” Sehun says. “It is with great honor that I serve in your temple, and to...to ignore my responsibilities would be a sin.” 

Baekhyun sniffs a laugh, burying his head in Sehun’s lap. 

“You are pleasure incarnate,” Baekhyun says. “You are all the joys and delights of this world. You cannot continue to deny yourself, because you are indulgence. You are opulence. You are luxury of the highest degree. How can gold be anything but rich?” He kisses the soft skin at the tops of Sehun’s thighs, stroking his fingers along it. “You are a conundrum, you are an enigma, and you contradict your very being at every turn. Look at you.” He sits back onto his heels, stares at Sehun with watering eyes. “You are art. And music. Flowers blooming. You are everything. When will you fucking listen? You are _everything_.”  
  


♔

As his first quarter comes to a close, the Triad rapidly approaching, Baekhyun does not yield, needles him constantly about their time together. Sometimes, it feels as though all Sehun does is work and convince Baekhyun to let him work. It is his purpose for being here, serving. And he wants to give the vows the respect they deserve.

“Oh, piss on the fucking vows,” Baekhyun says from the bath. “If I can’t do what I want, then what exactly is the point in my power?” 

His voice echoes, and Sehun wraps himself in the sheets, smiling. It is an argument they’ve had a dozen times over, but Sehun holds firm. And over the sennights, he’s figured out Baekhyun’s weakest point: he’d never do anything Sehun didn’t desire. 

“Your power is absolute, my lord,” Sehun says. 

A large splash, and then, Baekhyun is striding into the room, completely naked, water dripping off him. 

“What did I say? Call me as you know me. My proper name.” 

“I know you as god, my lord,” Sehun says. 

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, and in an instant, his body goes dry, the floor dry along with him. He goes to the bed, pulls the sheets from around Sehun’s body. He climbs over him, kisses him. 

“Why must you fight it, still?” 

“I only intend to honor you as you deserve.” 

Baekhyun grinds himself into Sehun until he rises, the moans rising to his throat, bubbling out of him. 

“Honor,” Baekhyun laughs. “Honor me by fucking me until I can’t move. By loving me until you can’t bear it any longer. Choose me over all else. Over duty. Over pledges and vows. Over honor.” 

He slips inside Baekhyun with little hesitation, and he gasps just as Baekhyun does. Sehun doesn’t want to choose. And he knows Baekhyun won’t force him to.  
  


♔

Sehun considers his service in the mornings and in the nights part of his worship, part of his devotion to his vows. It might be the most enjoyable sort, the most indulgent kind of worship, but even still, he is busy balancing two worlds. Sat on the lap of a god, kneeling at the altar of offering.

It is comfortable for the moment, though, and he cannot deny it. He can handle Baekhyun’s prodding, in all senses of the word, and he has learned to handle his work with aplomb. It is a beautiful feeling, the palace starting to feel like home, like Baekhyun is truly his lover, like the world is falling into place around him. 

That is, until some aimless evening in the middle of the Eleventh month, and he is spread across Baekhyun’s bed, watching him pour the wine. It is another little bit of blasphemy that he should put an end to, the red wine flowing from the decanter into the glass by Baekhyun’s hand, but Sehun is so tired, exhausted by Baekhyun’s passion. 

He observes him, the poised way he moves through everything. Everything is fluid, liquid, and he flows like the honey wine as it splashes into the glass. 

Baekhyun comes back to bed, hips tilting from side to side as he walks, and Sehun keeps his eyes on the slanting lines of him. Maybe, if Sehun rolls the dice, plays his cards correctly, he will have a taste of him. 

Already, his energy returns to him as Baekhyun hands him the glass, the rims singing as they touch. He sits up, walks across the bed on his knees. and they wind their arms together, sipping from their glasses as they intertwine. 

Baekhyun gets back into bed, and he holds Sehun in his arms as they sip, quiet for the moment. But the moment is not to last. 

“I forgot to mention this morning,” Baekhyun says casually. “You know of the Fire God, of course.” 

Sehun tenses all over, looks up at Baekhyun as he lays his head on his chest. He runs the tips of his fingers along the underside of Baekhyun’s pectoral, circles his nipple. 

“Yes, my lord.” 

“He’ll make a visit to the Bichwood.” 

“H-He’ll what?” 

Baekhyun strokes his fingers through Sehun’s hair, almost fully grown back, and it is soft, Sehun knows. After using Baekhyun’s washes and oils, he is soft all over, save for his hands and knees. 

“It is a necessary visit for diplomacy,” Baekhyun says. “You’ve nothing to worry about, of course. It has been a long time since the war, and there is peace.” 

“There’s always peace until someone breaks it,” Sehun whispers. 

Baekhyun takes him by the chin, and he smiles at Sehun, kisses him softly. 

“You’re wise. But there is nothing to fear. You’ve heard the proverb _time heals all wounds_ , haven’t you?” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

“Then listen well to it,” Baekhyun says. “He’s mellowed with time, his flames are colder now. And it’s important for me to keep tabs on him. Know what he’s up to. He’s always planning. And so we too must plan. Move one step ahead of him.” 

Sehun watches, studies him. 

“Do you believe he means to act against you?” 

Baekhyun hums as if in thought, takes another sip of his wine with a smile. “I don’t know. I’ll figure him out when he visits. And even if I didn’t know him like the back of my hand, he’s a terrible liar.” 

“And you?” 

“Me?” 

“Are you a good liar, my lord?” Sehun asks. 

Baekhyun narrows his eyes with a cat-like grin, kisses Sehun lushly, his tongue playing with Sehun’s. He tastes of strawberries, raspberries, crushed under the heel of a boot. Like blood and roses. Sour, sweet. Like metal of a sword. 

“How would I know such a thing?” Baekhyun sparkles. “I’ve never tried it before.”  
  


♔

The reality trickles in slow, drops of water along the side of a glass: the God of Inferno will visit the Bichwood.

The news travels as fast as Sehun knew it would, and everything halts for exactly one moment. And then, immediately after the moment of shocked calm passes, everyone springs into action. The preparations for a royal visit are thorough, terrifying, and the Reds, as per usual, get the worst of it. 

“Remind me why I thought making a pledge of service was a good idea,” Sehun says.

Taeil throws his head back and laughs. “As if I’d feel an ounce of pity for you. Your lover is king, and you need only say the word before being lifted from this _hellhole_.” 

Sehun looks around. The lavatories are normally cleaned every three suns, but it is obviously the least favored of the tasks, and it always falls to the Reds. He could go three lifetimes without seeing the intimate sides of a toilet this way, and it still wouldn’t be enough. 

“Couldn’t leave you on your own,” Sehun says. 

“Do me a great favor, Chosen One, and shut up before I’m forced to drown you in a latrine.” 

Sehun smiles as they work, nudging into Taeil before he nudges back. Taeil sings, and sometimes Sehun hums along, but on the whole, it is much better to simply listen as Taeil’s voice echoes, floods the bathroom with song.

It’s after they’ve finished, hands washed, that Taeil speaks again. 

“Have you ever met the God of Inferno?” 

“Just once,” Sehun says, even though it wasn't really a meeting. He hid inside.

“Lucky,” Taeil grimaces. “He comes a few times a year. He always brings an army with him, as if he means to sack the city.” 

“Has he ever?” 

Taeil throws his head back and laughs. “He’d have to be stupid to try. Baekhyun has the largest army. Has the most gold. Has the most loyal to him. Has a personal guard of specially trained Whites and Golds at his side. And all of the priesthood, once they reach Gold, are trained to fight. If anything, the Fire Lord is the one who should come in fear. With a snap of his fingers, Baekhyun could have him dead.” 

Sehun lets his shoulders fall, swings his bucket at his side. He didn’t know how much it weighed on him, but knowing that Baekhyun has the upper hand makes him hum Taeil’s song into the halls, the weight lifted.  
  


♔

The priests are dressed in their formal wear for Chanyeol’s arrival, and it is Sehun’s first opportunity to wear his robe of silk, Baekhyun’s pointed sun sigil at his sleeve. He looks smart in it, he feels, and he prepares alongside Taeil in the dormitories, and Sehun pulls a vial of lip oil from under his bed.

“Such perks,” Taeil laughs, and he snatches it from Sehun’s hands before dotting it at the pout of his lips. 

He tosses it back to Sehun, and Sehun does the same, slicks it along his lips before he pushes his hair back out of his face. The priests look so much handsomer since the hair cutting’s been stopped, even though some prefer to keep their hair trimmed close. 

Taeil doesn’t, lets his hair grow out the way Sehun does, and he too pushes it back from his forehead. He looks quite pretty that way, and Sehun tells him so, only for Taeil to look at the ground with a blush high on his cheeks before he kicks Sehun in the ankle. 

“Come on,” Taeil says. “We’ll be late. And wouldn’t that look bad? The king’s only lover late to the ceremonies?” 

Sehun rolls his eyes, but he follows. 

The priests all file out of the servants doors in lines. And the Reds go first, heads bowed as they move to line along both sides of the palace stairs. The Golds go next, and then the Whites, closest to the formal doors. Sehun is forced to the edge, Taeil just next to him. The fanfare begins, horns trumpeting the arrival of the Fire king and God of Inferno, but the people are mostly quiet as the gates to the city open. 

Sehun keeps his head low as a hushed gasp emits from the hoards of city folk. He grabs Taeil’s hand in his, and Taeil squeezes it tightly, and the heat erupts so harshly that Sehun has to look up. 

Balls of fire scream to the heavens, and Sehun shields his eyes against the light as he stares at them. Then, he sees him. 

Chanyeol is on fire atop his black horse, the red mane braided in a waterfall down its side. The fires blow back from him, and he looks incredibly beautiful, _otherworldly_ beautiful as the flames lick at him, at his steed. As he gets closer and closer, Sehun notices the details of him. 

He wears a tall pointed crown of shining black steel, some enchanted metal that stands up to his flames that melts flesh, melts diamonds all the same. He’s draped in a long red cloak, so long that it drags along the streets as they move. 

When the caravan stops, Chanyeol at the bottom of the steps, Sehun is close enough to him that he could reach out and touch the billows of his sleeves. 

It isn’t until Chanyeol’s fiery red eyes meet Sehun’s that he realizes he is staring, has _been_ staring, and he quickly lowers his head, staring at the marble of the steps again. He swallows his apology, knowing that he must be quiet. Hoping it will all just pass him by. 

He chances another glance up at Chanyeol, keeping his head as low as possible, desperately praying that he will have already moved on, carried himself up the stairs, his cloak dragging behind him. 

But no, Chanyeol has stopped, stares at him as if he’s found treasure, and Sehun shoots his eyes back down. The next time Sehun looks up, Chanyeol is gone, passed them by. And finally, his heart settles back into his chest where it belongs.  
  


♔

There is a ceremonial feast in the largest of the halls, and Chanyeol and Baekhyun sit at the high table, breaking bread as a show of good faith. The priests sit amongst the Fire Lord’s army, but they do not speak, and altogether, it would be quite a joyless affair were it not for the food.

It is one allowance that they make for themselves, the ceremonial feasts, and the priests wear the eyes of rabid dogs as they stare at the food. Such delicacies, stir-fried garlic shrimp, clams in garlic butter sauce over pasta, thin cuts of raw fish over individual beds of rice and soy sauce for dipping, the most beautiful marbled steaks that Sehun’s ever laid eyes upon, smothered with herbed butter atop mashed red potatoes...such delicacies, and they stretch on and on, are only allowed on the most special occasions. 

They feast for hours, but Sehun can’t keep his eyes from Baekhyun, from the high table. They lean against each other like old friends, and Sehun’s mind works. The war, Chanyeol’s siege of Yeol. Even if no life was lost, did Baekhyun support him through the struggles? Did Baekhyun know of Jongin’s plan? Or did he only just find out when journeying through Gochidana? Did Jongin...did he and Yixing know of Baekhyun’s glamor? Or were they fooled as well? 

A hand pulls on his sleeve, and Sehun turns to face Taeil. 

“You’re staring,” he says, mouth full of lemon tart. 

Sehun supposes he’s right, turns back to his plate.  
  


♔

They’re permitted to retire to their dormitories if they wish after the feast, no work for the evening, so the corridors of the palace are cheerier than normal, laughter ringing out amidst the youngest in service who’ve not yet learned to swallow it.

He and Taeil stroll through the northern gardens, breathing in the sweet air. The gardens are large, mammoth even, and well-manicured by a crew of Golds. Peonies of all shades, pinks and reds, lilac and salmon. Grapevines turn and twist around the stone pillars, and they hang heavily with grapes, red and white. The lotuses float in the fountain pools, plumerias with their pretty yellow centers line the walks, and the bird of paradise flowers point the way through. 

It is a relaxing affair, and by the time they return to their beds, Sehun has a settling of joy in his stomach. 

But there is a knock on the chamber door, and when Taeil opens it, he reveals a Red, short in stature, with cat-like eyes and warm black hair that glows in the candlelight. 

He steps inside, turns to Sehun. 

“The God of Inferno has requested your presence,” the Red says. Sehun looks to his waist, and he too only has one red rope. They must have arrived around the same time, and yet, Sehun’s never met him. 

“Me?” 

“Yes,” the Red says. “In his chambers.” 

Sehun’s head works double time. What could Chanyeol want with him? Would Baekhyun want him to go? To stay? What’s the meaning of it? Is he being tricked in some way? Led like a fool to the gallows? 

But he cannot say no to a god. So he wraps himself in his robe, ties his own red rope around him, and slips his feet into his sandals. 

“Lead the way,” he says. 

Sehun follows the little Red, so much shorter than he. The Red says nothing, and Sehun doesn’t break the silence, too busy focusing on the twisting, turning journey from the dormitories to the second godly chamber. The Red raps on the door until Chanyeol’s deep voice answers. 

“Enter.” 

The Red pushes open the chamber door, steps inside. 

“My lord,” he bows. 

And Sehun gets his second good look at Chanyeol. Beautiful, of course, just as incredibly beautiful as Sehun remembers. Tall, dark hair that is long enough to have a wave to it. It’s pushed back off his forehead, his skin clear and dewy like Baekhyun’s, the magic coursing through him in alluring waves. His presence is intimidating, and there is much strength in him. It is evident to Sehun, at the very least.

He is dressed in a fiery red silk, a shiny orange phoenix embroidered at the sleeve. Lighter attire than what he arrived in, but the fabric is just as long, drapes across the marble floor, and he looks just as regal as Baekhyun, just as rich. 

“Jihoon-ah,” Chanyeol says. “Thank you. And come back at the tenth bell, won’t you?” 

Sehun watches the little Red’s face go nearly as red as the rope wrapped around him before he bows, exiting the room, the door closing firmly behind him. 

Chanyeol studies him for a while, and Sehun keeps his eyes low in a display of deference. Baekhyun’s lover or no, there would be no stopping Chanyeol from burning him alive right here, and no one, not even Baekhyun, could save him. 

“My,” he says. “You _are_ the pretty one, aren’t you? I almost couldn’t pass you by during the procession, you were so captivating.” 

Sehun keeps his eyes on the glittering marble floor. 

“Thank you, my lord.” 

Sehun watches as Chanyeol steps forward, the smacking of his sandals curiously threatening as he steps forward, closes the distance between them. Then, a finger comes to his chin, gently but insistently lifting until Sehun looks into Chanyeol’s dark maroon eyes, warmed red by the candlelight. 

“Do you treat all gods so respectfully?” Chanyeol asks. “Or is it only the ones whose cocks you aren’t sucking?” 

Sehun’s stomach heats uncomfortably fast, the shame boiling within him, and he lowers his eyes. 

“I don’t understand, my lord.” 

“Don’t you?” He tilts his head to the side, turns Sehun by the jaw. “I’m sure you must. Everyone knows of you by now. In just a few passes of the moon, you’ve become the most famous person in the world, I do believe.” 

“W-What?” Sehun stutters. 

“Please,” Chanyeol smirks, turning and walking to the wine cart. “Did you really think that no one would care if the richest, most powerful god in all the kingdoms took someone into his bed as if he meant to keep him there forever?” 

Chanyeol takes the glass stopper from the decanter, lifts the bottle to his nose. He sniffs it, smiles, and fetches two glasses from beneath the cart. He tips the decanter, pours healthily into each glass. He moves, slipping out of his sandals before wandering to the little table and chairs in the corner of the room. He sits, watches Sehun. 

“Shall I drink alone, then?” It is invitation enough, so Sehun pads over, sitting across from the fire god. Chanyeol puts his fingers on the base of the second wine glass, pushes it across the table. “Take it.” 

Sehun obeys, takes the glass. Chanyeol clinks the two glasses together, the sound chiming through the chamber. He says nothing, only lifts his glass to his mouth, and Sehun follows suit, taking a sip before placing it back to the table. 

“Sehun,” Chanyeol says. “Pretty name.” 

“Thank you, my lord.” 

“Is everything about you pretty?” He tilts his head, sips again from his glass. “Do you shit gold?” 

Sehun bites his smile. “No, my lord. Just...just shit, I’m afraid.” 

Chanyeol laughs, leans back in his chair. Appraises Sehun as if he was livestock on sale. Sehun sits quietly, does not move much. Only tries not to lose his life. 

“How much do you know of me?” Chanyeol asks. 

“Enough, my lord.” 

Chanyeol takes his glass in his hand again, holds it between his hands. 

“And do you believe everything you’ve heard? All my cruelty and rage?” 

Sehun knows there are wrong answers to the question, but can’t seem to find any correct answers within his head. 

“I don’t know, my lord.” 

Chanyeol huffs out a breath as he lifts the glass to his lips again, and Sehun watches his throat work. 

“I thought you’d be in his chambers,” Chanyeol says, licking red away from his mouth. “I sent Jihoon all through the palace searching for you.” 

“I’m always in dormitories,” Sehun says, “unless Ba—,” and it’s an error. Chanyeol leans forward in his seat, eyes wide with delight. “Unless the God of Light requires my service.” 

“How often does he call upon you to warm his bed and his cock?” Chanyeol smiles as if discussing the weather. “Is it every night? Do remember, it’s a sin to lie to a god.” 

Sehun stays quiet, merely takes another sip of his wine. 

Silence can be as silken and soft as a scarf, but if it’s wrapped around your neck, it can choke the life from you all the same, and Sehun finds himself in the center of an ocean. Chanyeol watches him, the same look Baekhyun sometimes has: as if Sehun is prey. As if they are predators. 

“We’re friends, you know,” Chanyeol says, and he drums his fingers along the table. “Baekhyun and I.” 

“Yes, my lord,” Sehun says, even though he didn’t quite know, even though he’s slow in accepting how little he knows. 

“We’ve known each other since we were babes,” Chanyeol says, and his eyes slide down to the table as he scrapes his fingernail atop the stone surface. “All of us. Minseok, Baekhyun, Jongdae, and—”

“Even Jongin?” 

Chanyeol’s eyes snap up, and they go red within an instant, not deep red of wine, not like mahogany wood, but red like liquid fires. 

“Especially Jongin.” 

“I did not know, my lord,” Sehun says, and he dips his head down, hoping it’s apology enough. 

“Not many people do. And not many know the story of what happened at Varrencarres all those many moons ago. Only a few came away with their lives, with such knowledge. And now you’re one of them.” 

“I suppose I am.” 

“Doesn’t that make you lucky?” Chanyeol asks. “Among the luckiest?” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

Chanyeol hums, lifts the glass to his lips again, and Sehun should continue to bite his tongue, he _knows_ he should, but the words come forth as if divined from some higher place. 

“Why did you do it?” he asks. 

“Do what, exactly?” Chanyeol challenges. “I’ve done so much, lark.” 

The pet name reminds Sehun of the danger of his position, acid in his throat, and he swallows thickly over it. How much does Chanyeol know, and how does he know it all? 

“Why did you invade the lands that did not belong to you?” Sehun asks. 

Chanyeol sets his glass down onto the table, gentle as it doesn’t even make a sound as it touches the stone. 

“How many summers are you now?” 

“Twenty four, my lord.” 

“Old enough,” Chanyeol says. “As it stands, I am two hundred and twenty-three.” 

Chanyeol is older than him nine times over, seen death and fire and war and bloodshed, all in the name of...what? 

“Ever since I was young, six summers, maybe five,” Chanyeol says, “I loved him.” 

_Loved_... 

“Jongin, my lord?” 

“Does he let anyone speak his name?” Chanyeol asks. 

“Yes, my lord.” 

Chanyeol smiles to himself, small. “He always was interesting.” He takes the glass from the table again, seemingly unsure of whether to hold it or set it down, constantly moving between the two, only pausing to drain it slowly. “We were about your age when the war began.” 

“My lord…” 

“Prior, we spent every night in each other’s arms,” Chanyeol says, and again, he smiles to himself, lost in memory. “Loved each other fiercely. Without mercy. He would blink into my chambers at night, gone by the dawn. I even had to get rid of my curtains, as every time I saw him leaning over me, it would scare me half to death, I’d accidentally set them ablaze.” 

Sehun bites through a laugh, takes his wine as Chanyeol sip again. 

We were kings,” he continues, “but we were ruled by others. They advised us. Forbid us from seeing each other after they found out what was between us.” 

“Did you abide by their rule, my lord?” 

Chanyeol throws his head back, laughs. 

“Only once,” Chanyeol says. “As I held honor above love, setting fire to the only thing that’s ever mattered to me. But...a story for another day. To tell you truly, I didn’t call you here to rehash memories long forgotten. I came to learn about you.”

“Learn about me, my lord?” Sehun says. “There is little to know.” 

“ _That_ is where you are wrong,” he smiles. “There is so very much to know about you, Sehun.” 

“I’m afraid you have the wrong idea. I am just a temple-keeper. Perhaps the lowest ranked man in the palace. I’ve nothing to my name here.” 

“Nothing but the heart of the richest king the world’s ever known,” Chanyeol says, tilting his head to the side, studying Sehun. “Is that nothing to you?” 

“N-No, my lord. It is everything to me.” 

Chanyeol’s eyes look over him, and he feels like that’s all Chanyeol’s done since he arrived. It matters not, Sehun only hopes that he doesn’t find whatever he’s looking for. 

“They all pretend to be benevolent angels, but even priests gossip.” Chanyeol looks at his nail beds for a moment, as if they are of particular interest to him. “Jihoon told me that you faced hardships here. And yet, you denied the help of your lover. You don’t take the simplest tasks even though you have the chance.” 

“I want no special treatment, my lord,” Sehun says, and he holds his head low. “I only wish to serve.” 

“Service,” Chanyeol says. “A fascinating concept.” 

“Yes, my lord, I suppose.” 

Chanyeol looks at him, and he can feel the heat all the way through him, just from Chanyeol’s eyes alone. What might it feel like, he wonders, to feel the worst of it? 

“You are quite different than I imagined,” Chanyeol says. “Much tamer.” 

“Tame, my lord?” 

“Tame,” Chanyeol repeats. “Like a kitten with no claws.” Sehun huffs a laugh, looks to his lap. “Is that funny?” 

“I don’t know, my lord. A bit, I think.” 

“It is either funny, or it isn’t.” 

“Then I suppose it is.” 

Chanyeol leans forward. “And why, exactly, is it so funny?” 

Sehun looks down at his lap again, twists his fingers into knots there. “Because it is true. I am tame. Quite tame. Boring, some might call me.” 

“And that’s where I must argue,” Chanyeol says. “You are anything but a bore. A beautiful face. A kitten without claws. But _boring_? No, I’m afraid you’ve got it all wrong.” 

Sehun looks up at him, and there is a strange warmth to him. Not stifling heat, the intimidating kind of fire Sehun’s come to know, but warmth. A gentleness to him. 

“My apologies, my lord,” he says. “I did not mean to—”

“Make me compliment you?” Chanyeol laughs. “It should be clear to you that no one _makes_ me do anything now.” 

The unspoken words: _once upon a time, they did. ___

“I won’t spin you pretty falsehoods. I won’t tell you that he’s never taken someone else to his bed before. He has, of course. Half the rumors you’ve heard, I’m sure they’re true. Half of them, I’m sure he made up himself to make himself feel a bit taller.” 

Sehun snorts, and Chanyeol smiles at him. 

“But you,” Chanyeol says, and he points at him with his glass. “You are different. Much, much different.” 

Sehun hides a smile. 

“Thank you, my lord.” 

“It isn’t praise,” Chanyeol says. “Just a statement of fact. I’ve never seen him yield to anyone as I’ve seen him yield to you.” 

Just how much does Chanyeol know? And how far have the rumors spread? Is it truly around the world by now? And does Junmyeon know? A shiver runs up his back at what he must have heard, the truths and the lies. 

Chanyeol’s voice shocks him out of thought. 

“Do you want a word of advice?”

Sehun wants to smirk, wants to say _as if I’ve got a choice_. 

“Yes, my lord, I welcome your wisdom.” 

Chanyeol laughs sharply, a dagger in the table. “ _Wisdom_. Don’t make fun, boy. I can still roast you alive like a fucking pig on a spit.” 

Sehun sits up a bit straighter. 

“Yes, my lord,” he says. 

“If I were in your position,” Chanyeol says gently, “I would allow him to act as he wants to act. You do yourself no favors, pretending to put up a fight.” 

It’s a thorn in his declawed paw, sticking in him. 

“My lord—” 

“Baekhyun always gets as he wants in the end,” Chanyeol says. “Save yourself the struggle. Do as he wishes. If he wants to have you painted, pose prettily. If he wants you to stay in his private chambers, sort the linens yourself and then meet him in bed. He is god. He is king. Indulging him is the best kind of service, little lark, don’t you think?” 

They finish the glasses of wine before Chanyeol sends him away, and when he opens the door, Jihoon is there, staring up at Sehun with wide eyes. He looks different now, liner smudged at his eyes, red oil on his lips. The collar to his robe is pulled open, and quickly, he tugs it closed. 

Chanyeol suddenly hooks his chin over Sehun’s shoulder, altogether too close for Sehun’s liking. “Ah, has the tenth bell tolled already? Must have missed it.” He runs his hand along the breadth of Sehun’s shoulder, down his back. “Better hurry before Jihoon-ah takes me to bed and shows me what the Red priests are best at. I’ve heard fucking is a talent with the new class of temple-keepers.” 

Sehun immediately breaks eye contact with Jihoon, embarrassed on behalf of them both, and he hurries past them both with much to think about.  
  


♔

He does not have to wait long before he makes his nightly visit to Baekhyun, padding through the halls. All is quiet, all is still, save for him. And he pulls himself together, the loose threads of him, before knocking softly on Baekhyun’s chamber door.

Baekhyun pulls the door open himself, and the first thing, the only thing Sehun notices is that Baekhyun’s silk lounging robes are pulled open and he is naked besides. Sehun’s breath catches in his throat, goes dry at the sight. 

“Does it please you?” Baekhyun asks, and his hand slides down his stomach, fingers spreading over himself. Hard between his legs.

“Yes, my lord. It pleases me greatly.” 

“Come and take me, then,” he says, and Sehun does not waste anymore time than that. 

He crosses the threshold, takes Baekhyun in his arms, and kisses him madly. Excitement, lust, fear, love—he can’t tell the difference between any of it now, all tastes exactly the same. Sweet, sugary. 

Sehun walks them both to the bed, gently pushes Baekhyun back by the shoulders before spreading his legs wide, settling between them as he kneels on the cold marble floor. 

“Lover, the door,” Baekhyun whispers. 

“It matters not,” he says, and Baekhyun’s eyes—Sehun’s never seen him so surprised. 

It’s then that he swallows Baekhyun, swallows his cock and the moans that he sings out, all the filth and the arousal, the sticky wet pleasure that he breathes from every fucking pore. Baekhyun holds him by the hair, long enough to hold now, and Sehun groans, the reverberations shaking through them both. 

He drags out whatever he can, licks it away, sucks it down. Baekhyun tastes of all that sweetness, the kinds between which Sehun can’t discern, and when his hands tighten in Sehun’s hair, pulling him down, down, down, Sehun goes, follows the light back to where it begins, deep within Baekhyun’s heart. 

Baekhyun spills into Sehun’s mouth with a cry, the tears streaming down his face. 

His breathing is slow to return to him, and when he wipes at his face, he laughs, shocked. 

“My love,” Baekhyun smiles. “What’s gotten into you?” 

“Whatever tasks you wish me to have,” Sehun says, chest pumping up and down, tears in his eyes. “Whatever you desire from me. I am yours, my lord. I will be guided by your hand, and I will thank you for it.” 

Baekhyun’s eyes shine, and holy light pours from him, warm like standing in daylight. 

“Ah, my sweet,” he says, petting him. “Finally, you’ve become well and truly mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ITS SO GOOD TO BE BACK!!!! 
> 
> god as i was editing this, i was so scared to post it! i dont know why, im just feeling all kinds of self-conscious lately! but this story means so much to me now, i've been working on it for so long, and im just like, really excited to get the chance to share it with you. i really, sincerely hope you enjoy. 
> 
> 9 AM eastern will be the new posting time for this book, so 2.2 will be up 5/14 at 9 and 2.3 will be up 5/21 at 9. mark ur calendars or like, dont. i dont know what ur into. 
> 
> as always, do let me know if u enjoyed it bc i am a fragile little bumblebee in the sweltering summer heat. leave me a little spoonful of sugar water in the form of comments, thank u 
> 
> ok ok be back next week. stay extremely frosty
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfsupremacist) | [my curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/wolfsupremacist)


	5. book two, chapter two

A rare snow falls in the Bichwood, hailing the arrival of winter. The priests all say it is a blessing from Minseok, a benediction for their work. 

Sehun isn’t sure if he believes all that, but as he stands in the doorway of the hall, looking out the window at the way the white sweeps across the soft tan sands, he must concede that it is beautiful. 

Sehun walks into the hall in his ceremonial robe, silk sitting prettily over his skin. The hall has been prepared specially for the Triad. Bowls of red flowers are sat upon columns, and they overflow, creeping down the sides of the stone. The candles are lit, but light primarily streams in from the large stained glass windows at the head of the hall, the pointed sun segmented into yellows and reds, a clear center that beams down on the throne. 

There are lines, hundreds of them in clear distinct lines. Whites are presented first. Then Golds. Then, finally, the Reds. 

Sehun is last, the very last Red in the entire hall, and he waits patiently as the rest are draped with their ropes. Every Triad a priest completes, he receives another rope. Four ropes of one color, and then he may graduate to the next rank before collecting another four ropes. Sehun wears only one around him, one single red rope, but it might as well tie him directly to Baekhyun’s heart. His lover, his god, his _king_. 

He watches as the men go. Taeil stands in front of him, and when it’s Taeil’s turn to kneel, Sehun makes direct eye contact with Baekhyun before he lets his gaze wander. His long white robes, edged in gold and red. Sehun imagines peeling them off of him, slipping the fabric to the side to see what marks he left the night before. 

A third red rope is laid along Taeil’s shoulders, draped around his neck as he kneels before Baekhyun. He rises, and Baekhyun claps him on the shoulder before he hurriedly joins the rest of the Reds in line. 

Finally, it is Sehun’s turn to kneel, but he kneels most every night, worships as he’s worshiped, ordained and consecrated, brought high, held above all else. And he is beginning to feel it, feel as special as Baekhyun always tells him he is. 

He sinks down to the marble on both knees, and he watches as Baekhyun goes to the ropes, fingers dancing over the cords, red, gold, and white. Gingerly, Baekhyun lifts a white rope into his hands, and Sehun’s stomach jumps at the sight. And he bites his lip as Baekhyun smiles at him, crossing back to where Sehun kneels before he gently lays the white rope around Sehun’s neck.

Red and white. Low and high. It makes little sense, but it is stunningly beautiful all the same. There is no more hiding. There is no secrecy about him. He was chosen. He has been lifted high. 

“I should have made them invent a new color solely for you,” Baekhyun whispers, and he takes Sehun’s hand in his, pulls him to his feet. 

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Sehun whispers back, and he doesn’t stop Baekhyun when he goes up on his toes to kiss Sehun sweetly, there in front of them all.  
  


♔

He wanders through the gardens a great deal, even at night. It gives him pleasure, and now, he takes pleasure as he sees fit. He dips his feet in the pool of cool water, swishes them through the flower petals that rest there. He hums to himself, songs Taeil used to sing, but eventually he grows bored of it.

In truth, he grows bored of it all, all the sitting around, all the waiting. Just as he figured, idleness doesn’t suit him. He considers discussing it with Baekhyun, being permitted to take more tasks, different tasks, something fitting for him.

He strolls through the palace, finds Reds and Golds attending to their late evening tasks. He watches them, smiles at them, but they do not smile back. In truth, he doesn’t blame them. He would hate himself as well, were he in their positions, scrubbing floors and leading prayers. Still, it does not feel good, the looks of ire, feels almost worse than the scorn from before. 

Sehun heads to Baekhyun’s chambers early, strips himself down and goes into the bath. He prepares himself thoroughly, rubbed clean, patted dry, skin gone soft with lotion afterwards. He lays across the bed, waiting for Baekhyun’s arrival, and he studies the painted ceiling, squints to see the brushstrokes. 

Baekhyun huffs as he pushes through the chamber doors, and when he looks up to see Sehun, he laughs. 

“Eager, are we?” 

Sehun stands from the bed, and he goes to him, pulls at the back of his robes, expert in disassembling the pretty golden rose that holds him all together. 

“Yes, my lord,” Sehun says. “Always eager for you, my lord.” 

Baekhyun smirks, takes Sehun’s face in his hands before closing in, biting Sehun’s bottom lip between his teeth. Sehun moans, draws his eyes shut, and Baekhyun pulls his lip gently before he releases it. 

“Is that the sort of mood you’re in, then?” 

“Yes, _my lord_ , it is.” 

Baekhyun smiles, shrugs out of his robes and lets them fall around him. Sehun stares at him, his smooth soft skin, the dusting of light hair along his forearms, under his arms, down the low part of his stomach. The blush on his cheeks, the black of his eyelashes. Beauty only knows him, him and him alone. 

“Sometimes I think you only like me for my body,” Baekhyun smiles, huffing a belabored breath, like it’s all such a pain. “To bed, then. And it is an order, lover.” 

Sehun goes, follows the command as he wished to, and he puts himself on his hands and knees. He can feel the heat of Baekhyun’s gaze on him, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t look back over his shoulder. Because they have done this a hundred times now, more, and Baekhyun only grants exactly what Sehun desires. 

He is dripping with oil already, so when Baekhyun strokes along him with curious fingers, finds Sehun wet, he makes a noise of satisfaction. He pushes his middle finger in, and Sehun sinks his hips back onto it, especially when Baekhyun curls it, presses against him, rubs circles at him, tells him how beautiful he looks in only sheets and sweat. 

When Baekhyun takes him by the hips, pushes his cock into Sehun, it is familiar and toe-curlingly good. Sehun grips the sheets as Baekhyun starts to fuck him, pushing in and pulling out only to push right back in. It’s slow, sinuous, and Sehun cries out as Baekhyun takes him apart, a hand on the back of his neck as he twists his hips, grinds into him and pulls the sounds from his throat. 

“Are you sure you want it this way tonight?” 

Baekhyun always asks. Willing to give Sehun whatever he desires. 

“Yes, my lord,” Sehun says. “Please.” 

“Not something different?” Baekhyun asks. “Something else?”

Sehun lowers his chest to the bed, breathes in the scent of lavender from the freshly laundered bedding. “This, my lord. If it pleases you.” 

Baekhyun pushes in again, laughs. “It always pleases me to have you underneath me. Pledging to me.” 

Sehun shivers, whole body and more. He finds new depths to this love, the way they bend to each other. 

“Then I’ll pledge, my lord.” 

The pace shifts dramatically, smooth and slow to quick and frantic. That is how Baekhyun operates. Dog at the end of the rope, able to shake loose of his ties at any moment. Sehun holds the ties, and that alone is intoxicating, beautiful and addicting. 

Sehun moans as Baekhyun ramps up, hits his stride, and he is past the point of possessing the ability to quiet himself. He wouldn’t want to even if he could—Baekhyun always gives best when he knows he’s affecting him, buried down deep in the blood. 

“Say it,” Baekhyun commands. 

It’s early, but they’re on the edge, sitting there as if they belong, and Sehun doesn’t mind. It reminds him that Baekhyun wants him just as much as he wants Baekhyun. 

“Baekhyun, please.” 

“ _Say_ it.” 

“My lord, please,” Sehun moans, and the hand on the back of his neck presses down, presses his face to the bed, makes him muffle all the noises that leak out, spill like wine, ink. 

Staining him, staining Baekhyun. Staining everything. The color branches out, creeps and climbs through them both. 

“Pledge yourself to me,” Baekhyun says. 

“I pledge to you,” Sehun whines. 

“Say the words.” 

“I am his,” Sehun says, and he can barely get the words out, the way his body is racked by waves of pleasure. “I am his, and he is mine.” 

“Swear it,” Baekhyun says. “ _Swear_.” 

“I swear it by fire, by water, by storm, ice, and stone. I swear it by light,” Sehun cries. “Oh, _fuck_ me.” 

Baekhyun redoubles his efforts, fucks him wildly, emphatically, fingers so tight on Sehun’s hips that the skin’s probably red and purple by now. It is devastating, how good it is, how tight the pleasure pulls his stomach. When Sehun pledges to him, it is over quickly, because the promise of someone’s forever is hot enough to burn you to ash. Or so Sehun imagines. 

When Baekhyun comes, it’s over Sehun’s back, and his mouth is on the back of Sehun’s neck, kissing marks that will show over the collar of his robe. He continues to kiss him, flattening himself to Sehun’s back as he turns Sehun’s face, kisses him softly. 

Sehun can barely catch his breath, still so close but so far. Without warning, he’s carried back to the bath, and Baekhyun carries him in his arms as he waits for the warm waters to fall. Gently, he’s washed clean, and when Baekhyun sits behind him in the bath, a slick hand offered for Sehun to thrust into, Sehun does not get far before he’s spilling out into the water, crying Baekhyun’s name. 

Baekhyun braces his arms around the wall of the bath, and Sehun leans back into him, head against his chest. Baekhyun kisses the top of his head, and Sehun sighs out, letting his eyes flutter closed for the moment as they sit within a sated minute. 

He breaks that minute once it’s through. 

“That was certainly a stunt you pulled at the Triad,” he says. 

Baekhyun snorts, runs a hand along Sehun’s arm. “It wasn’t much of a stunt, though, was it? More a...declaration of love.” 

Even now, it fills Sehun with a feverish heat. For all his time, four months as a keeper, five months as a lover, Sehun still can’t quite become accustomed to all the love. The passion. The devotion. 

“Declaration of love or no,” Sehun says, and he taps the tips of his fingers along Baekhyun’s thigh, “it’s as though you want them to hate me.” 

“You must know by now that how they feel is of no concern to me. I only thought it would make you happy.” 

And the worst part is that it _did_. He never feels better than he does when he’s been held above the rest of them. It is the most dangerous feeling, like hanging off the precipice. Always just a few moments away from the plummet back down. 

“A bit of discretion would be wise,” Sehun says. 

“Do I now pay you to advise me?” 

He leans his head back, lets it fall to the side before he looks Baekhyun in the eye and smiles. “I’ve left my purse back in Mulvilla, but even so, I’m quite sure you don’t pay me at all.” 

“What would you call this, then?” Baekhyun asks, and he sinks down, body sliding against Sehun’s until their mouths are so close that Sehun can practically taste him in the air. “The luxuries I provide you.” 

“What I’m owed,” Sehun says, breath against Baekhyun’s, “for my _service_ , my lord.” 

Baekhyun grins before he bites Sehun’s lip between his teeth, makes Sehun’s moan skip across the water. “You’re so devilish. Are you bored? You get devilish when you’re bored.” 

“No, you keep me busy, morning and night.” 

“Look at that tongue of yours now,” Baekhyun praises. “Sharp enough to cut a man.” 

“But you aren’t _just_ a man,” Sehun says. “Would it be enough to cut you?” 

Baekhyun closes his lips into a smile, and Sehun knows by now that this is the game Baekhyun likes best. He likes the play between them, the struggles. Likes when Sehun pushes at him, makes him rise to the challenge. He is competitive, spiteful, and Sehun likes that about him. Likes to goad him into it now that he knows he can. 

The bath water goes warmer and warmer around them, and Baekhyun goes hot as he holds Sehun tightly, dangerously tight. 

“Do you threaten me, boy? In my own palace? In my own kingdom?” 

“Not a threat, my lord, never a threat. Only a concern for his lordship’s safety. I must confess, it seems my lord loves it when I lick his cock,” Sehun smiles, “and I’d hate to hurt him.” 

Baekhyun shakes his head with a smile, and when Baekhyun’s arms encircle him again, this time, he is ready, ready to be taken back to bed, ready to be _spoiled_ once more.  
  


♔

Sehun’s work is light. As it happens, Sehun’s status with Baekhyun could always afford him comforts that Reds, Golds, even Whites could only dream of.

He’s sure that jealousy runs through them as natural as blood, but they wouldn’t dare voice it. There are rumors among them that Baekhyun can hear all through the temple. What a wondrous thought. 

The candles in the Room of Nine Flames are to never go out while Baekhyun is risen, but when he retires to his chambers, Sehun is the one to carefully put out the lights. The priest who taught him the task gave him a golden snuffer, but Sehun always steps forward, mouth nearly kissed by the fire, before he puffs them out with a breath. 

Sehun has just finished the ritual when another priest calls his name. He turns, faces the Gold. Two ropes around his waist. And he doesn’t meet Sehun’s eyes. 

“Yes?” Sehun says. 

“The lord has summoned you,” the priest says, cheeks flushed. “To his chambers for the evening.” 

Sehun bows, and he tries not to let the heat rise to his face too. There’s something in his blood, something addicting and maddeningly good. It isn’t until then that he realizes what exactly it is: power. He’s got power. And it feels good. 

“Early,” Sehun snorts as he stands back up. “Alright then, I’m going.” 

Now, their relations are no secret, of course. Baekhyun isn’t good at keeping secrets, and now, Sehun takes pride in his role. Takes great pride in being chosen. 

He lets the sounds of his sandals echo in the halls now, no longer shrouded by the darkness of the twelfth bell. He goes when he wants, when Baekhyun calls him. It isn’t always for the lewdness that they all assume, though it often is. On occasion, they simply fall asleep in each other’s arms. Sometimes, they talk and only talk. Baekhyun has a sharp mind, manages to make Sehun laugh, keep him entertained. And for the while, that is enough for him. 

When he enters the chambers, Baekhyun is naked on the bed, legs thrown wide, and secretly, Sehun is pleased. He enjoys being kitten as much as he enjoys its opposite, but after a while of the former, the latter seems more delicious, more tempting than ever. 

“What are you waiting for?” Baekhyun asks. 

“For you to beg for me.” 

Baekhyun shows his neck as he laughs loudly, and Sehun wants to leave dark purple marks on it, wants to leave blotches of red, of love. It is rare that anyone besides Sehun dresses or undresses Baekhyun now, but the look on their face, the god-king kissed with bruises from Sehun’s mouth, the knowledge of who put the marks there—it would be worth it. 

“A god doesn’t beg.” 

“But he begs for me, doesn’t he?” 

Baekhyun sits up, leaning back on his hands, legs still spread wantonly as he stares at Sehun. “Don’t tempt me into taking you across my knee.” 

It puts a thrill of heat in Sehun’s stomach, the thought of being at Baekhyun’s mercy like that. But isn’t he always at Baekhyun’s mercy? He steps forward, undresses slowly, folding his robe carefully and setting it on the chaise. He doesn’t take his eyes from Baekhyun, watching as his fingers play along his skin. 

He crawls across the bed when he’s finished, and Baekhyun sucks in a breath as Sehun climbs over top him, body held carefully back as he looks down at Baekhyun. 

“Look at you,” Sehun says. “Look at the way you crave it.” 

Baekhyun turns his face, and his face goes pink as he shuts his eyes. Sehun leans down, kisses Baekhyun’s cheek softly, his neck. The hollow of his throat. 

“You cannot even deny it,” Sehun continues. “You’ve come to need me as you need your next breath.” 

Baekhyun sucks in air harshly, the sound shattering, and Sehun smiles. 

“I will take care of you,” he says. “I will give you what you desire.”  
  


♔

He lifts Baekhyun into the bath to wash him, kneels on the step with the cloth in his hand, and he diligently bathes him, reverent as he soaps him, sweeping water across him with the cup. When Baekhyun is beneath him, he wants the tenderest aftercare, and Sehun is happy to oblige him.

“Is tomorrow same as today?” Sehun asks. “Meetings with your council about the snows?” 

Baekhyun sighs as he sinks down into the water to his chin. “Yes, I’m afraid so. They think I’ll be needed to clear them.” 

“Has the snowfall been so harsh?” 

“Not in the capital, of course,” Baekhyun says, “or the surrounding areas either. But in Shauto. Along the trade routes north through the mountains and stormlands.” 

Sehun swallows, keeps his eyes low. He has many questions, but it is not his place. 

Baekhyun sits up in the bath, grabs Sehun by the chin. 

“If you’ve something to say, then do say it,” he orders. “We are equal now, haven’t we agreed upon it?” 

_We’ll never be equal_ , Sehun thinks. _No matter how many white ropes you put around my neck, I’ll never be same as you._

“Yes, I’m—I’m sorry.” 

“Never apologize unless you’ve done something to warrant apology, larkling,” Baekhyun smiles. “Out with it now.” 

Sehun can’t look in his eyes as he asks, so he lowers them subserviently, laces his fingers with Baekhyun’s. “The priests thought it was a kindness, but...is it an act of war?” 

Baekhyun laughs. “Smart. But from Minseok? Unlikely. He wants nothing to do with any of us. Built up in that ice castle of his.” Baekhyun shivers violently as if imagining being there. 

_Why_ , Sehun thinks. _Why doesn’t he want anything to do with you?_ But that...that might be a step too far, even for Baekhyun. 

“Will you be journeying there, then? To clear the snows?” 

Baekhyun squeezes Sehun’s hand in his. 

“Smart lark,” he praises. “I’ll be leaving in the morning.” 

Sehun’s stomach drops into the depths of him, and he wants to put it back where it belongs, but he simply can’t. 

“Lark.” 

Sehun looks up, meets Baekhyun’s eyes. The gold is warm, nearly bronze, and he is so mesmerizing. So ethereal and perfect. 

“Don’t look so sad,” Baekhyun says. “Or I’ll be forced to bring you along.” 

He must have been advised to keep Sehun at the palace. Must have been instructed. Does Baekhyun still listen to instructions? Does he always do as he’s told? No. That isn’t him. It’s his choice to leave Sehun at the temple, and Sehun must respect it. 

“How long will the journey be, my lord?” 

Baekhyun’s smile is soft on his face, and Sehun wants to reach out, brush his fingers along it. “It will be one month. We’ll take my fastest horses. And when I return, I will never leave you again.” 

“You can’t promise such a thing.” 

Baekhyun rises to his knees in the bath, the water dripping off him. It is within the blink of an eye that the bath goes dry, his body dry, evaporating as steam curling to the ceiling. And he takes Sehun’s face in his hands. He kisses him, and it feels like he’s saying _hello_ , not _farewell_. 

_No_ , Sehun thinks. _This feels like you’re staying. Do not lie to me with this mouth, these perfect lips._

“Don’t presume to tell me what I can and cannot do,” Baekhyun whispers. “I can promise. I can swear to you. I will never leave your side again. Not until my body goes to rot in the fucking crypts. You will rest alongside me forever. You will take meals with me. You will drink with me. You’ll always have a spot next to me, because it is inscribed with your name.”

Sehun trusts him, so when he carries Baekhyun back to bed, he curls alongside him, no longer fearful of what happens when the morning comes. There will be time, later, for questions and polite requests. Now, they rest in each other’s arms. It will be a long time until he has it again.  
  


♔

When Baekhyun leaps onto his horse, the golden mane waving wildly after the braids were undone, the priest are all lined along the steps of the palace. But Sehun does not hide with the Reds where, perhaps, one could argue he belongs. He is standing before Baekhyun, a hand on his horse.

“One month,” Baekhyun says, looking down at Sehun. “It’s been quite a while since I’ve spent so long without you.” 

“Yes, my lord,” Sehun says. “Quite a while, indeed.” 

Baekhyun smiles down at him. “Stay just as I see you now. Do not change one bit, do you hear me?” 

“Is it an order from my king, my god, or my lover?” 

“It is not an order. It is a request,” Baekhyun says softly. “I love you.” 

“And I you. Always.” 

Baekhyun pulls the reins, and the horse turns. With that, he splits the streets, the cape of his riding robe fluttering as he picks up speed, the parade of riders chasing behind him through the gates until they close behind them all. The horse then takes to the skies, a dark spot with golden wings, and it is beautiful, striking against the blue. 

The people of the city retreat slow, and there is a chill in the air as the priests file back into the palace. Without the God of Light in their midst, suddenly, it all feels so very cold.  
  


♔

He’s learned the way of the world. He knows people take advantage of the weak. And without Baekhyun at his side, he anticipates a wave of antagonism.

But no such wave arrives. Each morning, he wakes in Baekhyun’s chambers, the bed cold without Baekhyun there to warm it. The priests follow the same schedule, spurred by the tolling of the bell tower. Cleaning, cooking, prayers, it all goes on. But with Baekhyun gone, the nine flames go unlit until his return to the capital, so even Sehun’s minuscule tasks have left along him with the God of Light. 

There is little for him to do, little to do besides sit and wait. 

He feels strange doing as he used to do, leisurely strolls through the gardens, rides through the desert on one of the royal steeds. Without Baekhyun, it feels too luxurious. He doesn’t feel guarded by his royalty, shielded by his holiness. Without Baekhyun, he is entirely regular, no different than a lowly Red. So he does none of it. The only thing he does is wish he had something to do. 

He thinks a bit too much, as the days pass into a sennight. Even _with_ the king in the capital, his days are so slow, but then when Baekhyun returns to the chambers after his meetings with the council, they are so, so fast. In the sun, he thinks up so many things to say to Baekhyun, so many things to ask, but he never seems to get the chance to say any of them, ask any of them. They are so hungry for each other, enthralled, drawn like moths to the light. And it is entirely too easy to forget all the words he thought up when he is wrapped in Baekhyun’s arms. 

He makes a vow to himself for a change. On Baekhyun’s return, he will get answers to his questions. He will make the requests he wants to make. He will not be distracted by the freckles on Baekhyun’s skin, or the blush at the high of his cheeks, or the way his moans sound when they reverberate through the chambers, through Sehun’s bones.  
  


♔

Without Baekhyun, he realizes that in a way, he missed the quiet. Baekhyun is loud, has a penchant for the dramatic, and for just a while, it is nice to have silence back as a friend. As the sennight turns to a fortnight, he realizes how calm he’s become, how strangely without worry it’s been, and when word comes that the snowdrifts have been dealt with, melted away by Baekhyun’s hand, Sehun’s stomach leaps with excitement. A fortnight more, and Baekhyun will be back to the palace, and all will return to normal.

He curls himself in Baekhyun’s bed, buried in the sheets. He dreams of Baekhyun against him, hand in his. The silence was nice, of course, but the noise...the beautiful, terrible noise...  
  


♔

Without Baekhyun, the permanent cloud of his energy and love moving around Sehun, he remembers Taeil. Sweet Taeil, pure Taeil. And his stomach sinks a little. It’s been so long since they’ve spoken, so long since they’ve even _seen_ each other. Immediately, Sehun ties his robe back up, slips into his sandals, and goes searching.

When he knocks on the dormitory door, Joowon answers, eyes shifting back as though he expects Sehun to have brought a guard along with him. 

“Is Taeil here?” Sehun asks, standing on his tiptoes to look up and around him. 

“He isn’t,” Joowon says. 

“Oh.” He frowns. He hadn’t thought about what he might do if Taeil wasn’t around. Taeil was always in the dormitories at ninth bell. “Could you...would you tell him that I’ve come looking for him?” 

Joowon scoffs. “Do I look like a courier to you? If you want a message passed to him, send him a fucking raven.” 

The door shuts in Sehun’s face, and, stunned, Sehun returns to his chambers.  
  


♔

Sehun tries the next night, and the night after that, but to no avail. Taeil is a ghost, it seems, like he’s completely vanished from the palace since the last Sehun saw him. He doesn’t know what to do, who to talk to. He realizes it slowly, all pieces clicking into place: he has no friends here besides Baekhyun and Taeil. And while Baekhyun is away, Taeil is all he has. And now, he doesn’t even have him anymore.

He goes to sleep in the middle of Baekhyun’s bed, feels swallowed up by all the many empty spaces that he cannot seem to ever fill.  
  


♔

It is deep in the middle of the evening one night past the middle of the month when someone begins to rap their knuckles against the chamber door, Sehun sits up in bed like a bolt of lightning. It is too early for Baekhyun’s return. Far too early. So, who could it possibly be?

“Yes?” he answers. 

“May I come in?” 

The voice is familiar, but it is strange. 

“My lord?” 

The door creaks open, reveals his face. Handsome as ever, glowing red eyes staring directly at Sehun’s bare chest. 

“Shall I give you a moment to make yourself decent?” Chanyeol asks. “Or should we skip the pleasantries? Baekhyun isn’t the only god who knows how to warm a bed.” 

With reckless abandon, Sehun leaps from the bed to throw on his dressing robe, tying it tight around him. 

“My lord, w-what are you doing here?” 

“Seducing you,” Chanyeol smiles. “Is it working?” 

Sehun snorts. “Truly, what are you doing here? You must know that—” 

“Yes, yes,” Chanyeol says, “your king is away, dealing with that horrible snow business.”

“Then if you know of Baekhyun’s whereabouts, then why...” 

“Did it ever occur to you that I would be in the capital to see you, little lark?” He smiles, walks over to the small table and sits in one of the chairs. “It was a terrible ride, and as soon as I heard he was away, I advanced with all possible dispatch.” 

Sehun’s mind immediately begins to dance and whirl, thoughts of war and armies, death, destruction, Baekhyun, and— 

“Beautiful _and_ you scheme? I see why he loves you so dearly.” 

“I don’t _scheme_. You insult my honor.” 

Chanyeol smiles, all charm and no substance. “How much more would I have to insult your honor in order to be punished with one of those Mulvilla blush wines?” 

Sehun rolls his eyes, and he pads to the cart of wine. He deftly pours the pink wine into a glass, walks over, and sets it in front of Chanyeol, arms folded in front of his chest. 

“Aren’t you going to join me?” Chanyeol asks. “It’s bad luck to let a king drink without you.” 

“Are you making that up?” 

“Only one way to know for sure.” 

Sehun rolls his eyes yet again, padding back over before returning with a glass of his own, sitting opposite Chanyeol at the table. Chanyeol tips his glass forward, and Sehun meets it with his own, the high chime echoing in the room. 

“To your beloved,” Chanyeol says. 

“To Baekhyun,” Sehun answers. 

Chanyeol grins as he sips, setting the wine down and crossing a leg over the other, his hands folded overtop. He looks at Sehun, and Sehun doesn’t shy away from it; instead, he studies Chanyeol much the same. 

“You certainly took my advice to heart, haven’t you?” Chanyeol notes. 

“How do you mean, my lord?” 

Chanyeol leans back in his chair, smiles broadly. “The way you sit. The way you speak. It’s as though...I can’t quite put my finger on it. You’ve become accustomed to our way of life, it seems.” 

Sehun scoffs, takes another sip of his wine. It’s sweet, but there are notes of peppercorns, salt of the sea. It’s strange, but he likes it, likes the strange, interesting wines that Baekhyun favors. 

“You wear it well,” Chanyeol nods. “Royalty. Riches. It suits you.” 

“You find me handsome,” Sehun says. “I believe you’d find _anything_ I wore suited me.” 

“Look at you _now_. A tongue on you.” 

“I’ve been told I’m quite good with it.” 

Chanyeol throws his head back and laughs, grabs his wine and takes a large mouthful. Sehun tracks the way his throat works, smiles smally as Chanyeol drinks. 

“You sound like him,” Chanyeol says, licking the pink away from his lips. “You sound exactly like him.” 

“Is that praise, my lord?” 

Chanyeol smiles as he reaches forward, drums his fingertips along the surface of the table. “In a way.” 

“Then I offer you my thanks, my lord,” Sehun says. “In a way.” 

They sip at their wine quietly, and when the glasses go dry, Sehun makes to stand to refill the cups. But Chanyeol stands quickly, grabs the decanter, and tips his glass fill. It is the second god to have been his cupbearer, and he would challenge anyone to keep a level head in such a situation. When you’re treated as a specialty, a novelty, an exception, you start to feel special, novel, exceptional. 

“Have you heard the songs yet?” Chanyeol asks. 

“No, my lord,” Sehun says. “It’s quiet here. Not much singing.” 

Chanyeol smiles as he sits back down across from Sehun, kicks his leg back over his other, the silk of his robe falling softly across him. 

“Last time, I told you the world knew of you, and they did. They knew of you. But now...now they sing _The Great God of Light, King of the Bichwood has only been brought to his knees once_ ,” he says. “ _And it was by Sehun’s loving hand_.” 

Sehun feels the heat drip through him at the suggestion, the intimate knowledge of their relationship that’s spread through the kingdom, through _kingdoms_ across the world. 

“If he were smarter, he’d keep you secret,” Chanyeol says. “You’re a weakness to him, of course.” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

“No argument? No impassioned defense of yourself? Have you no pride?” 

“I’ve pride, my lord, but no, no argument or defense. You’re right. It would have been smarter to hide me. If he’s any enemies, they’ll now know how to hurt him most. By killing me.” 

Chanyeol raises his brow. “Does he let you sit on the council?” 

“No, my lord.” 

“If he was so intent on everyone in the fucking world knowing your name, then he should let you serve on the damn council at least.” 

Sehun smiles again, lowers his eyes. “Thank you, my lord.” 

“You’re very welcome,” Chanyeol says. 

More silence as they drink, and the wine, the power, it all goes to Sehun’s head. 

“I-If I could ask a question,” Sehun says tentatively. 

“You don’t seem to need permission to do much here in this palace. Go ahead.” 

“Why have you been so kind to me?” Sehun asks. “Is it...are you fearful of him?” 

“Of Baekhyun? No, I’m not fearful of him.” 

“May I ask—” 

“It’s your kingdom,” Chanyeol says. “Ask what you wish.” 

_Your kingdom_ , he says. _Sehun’s_ kingdom. He cannot take such a title, cannot hold it comfortably in his hands. It’s too rich, like dark chocolate cake, like butter sauces. Like eclairs filled with sweet cream. He can’t stomach much, but these small bites, he swallows them whole. 

“Why aren’t you scared?” 

Chanyeol smiles, teeth and all. He does that, Sehun notes, smiles a lot. He wonders if that is all just a mask, same as Baekhyun’s glamor. What of Jongin? What of that tragic love that died once Chanyeol picked the Fire Hills, made black glass of the desert fields in Yeol? Does he bear the weight same as Baekhyun, close to his chest? Does it go as deep as Baekhyun’s guilt? Or deeper? 

“We may not look it,” Chanyeol says, hands folded primly in his lap, “but we’re old men now. It’s been years and years, and we’ve damaged the ties between us irrevocably. They are threads that cannot be woven back together, no matter how many times you spin them round. And truth be told, I believe, within my heart of hearts, that we’re all tired of fighting people that we love.” 

“Do you really love them?” Sehun asks. “Still?” 

“They are the only family I have,” Chanyeol says. “I’ve never loved anyone else.” 

“Is it a very lonely life, then?”

Chanyeol laughs, uncrosses his legs, crosses them back over the opposite way. 

“Why do you think we take strangers to bed? Why do you imagine we pay for our friends? It is the loneliest life you could imagine, or worse even than that.” 

“Do you want to speak to him?” 

“To whom?” Chanyeol asks. 

“I’m quite sure you know of whom I speak,” Sehun says. 

Chanyeol huffs a breath, and suddenly, he drains his glass. His throat works quickly, bobbing as he swallows, and when he sets the glass to the table, his fist clenches around the stem. 

“Every day,” Chanyeol says. “Every day, I want to speak to him. See him again. I want to change the decisions I’ve made. I want to tell him so. But all he does is run from me. Jump from place to place. He never stops running, and I never stop chasing him. And now, after I’ve thought about it for so long, I realize...I cannot blame him for it. I hurt him terribly, and he doesn’t owe me anything, not even the time to hear my apology.”

Sehun’s heart aches for him. The loneliness. The emptiness inside him. Inside them all. 

“Someday,” Sehun says. “Someday I hope you’re able to fix things.” 

“It is a nice thing to hope,” Chanyeol says. “But that is all it will ever be. A hope. A wish.” 

“Surely you can’t know that.”

“I’m a god. There is no limit to what I can know.” 

Sehun supposes he’s right. He’s no god, can’t presume to know what is like to be one, but he’s seen enough, heard enough about them to know that they’re all beaten, battered, bruised. And if they all seem to know so much, then why are they all so broken?  
  


♔

Chanyeol stays, and he makes it clear he _will_ stay until Baekhyun returns. Sehun tries to suss out the real reason behind his visit, but in truth, it seems as though he’s just as bored as Sehun is. Sehun begins to walk with Chanyeol in the mornings, takes meals with him, shows Chanyeol his favorite places in the northern garden. It’s comforting, especially after the realization that he’s not many friends here. And as they learn to live together, Sehun starts to consider him a friend.

Eventually, Chanyeol tires of such activities, and he drags Sehun from Baekhyun’s chambers by the hand, five suns after he arrived. 

“Where are we going, my lord?” 

“Council meeting,” Chanyeol says. “Should be in one of the rooms upstairs.” 

Chanyeol holds him by the wrist as they walk through the palace, and the place is empty, most of the priests in the galleys or doing good works throughout the city. Still, there is a set of Gold guards, and Chanyeol stops before one of them. He’s of medium height, medium build, altogether quite average save for a scar along his lip. 

“Where’s the meeting being held?” 

The Gold bows dramatically to Chanyeol before rising before him. “My lord, the council members told me—” 

“Never mind what they told you,” Chanyeol says. “Do you intend to disregard a question asked by a god? King of Hwajae?” 

The Gold buckles, and Sehun watches it happen, the way he trembles. If it were anyone else demanding it, Sehun’s sure the Gold would have stood his ground, held his orders. It is fascinating, seeing the way Chanyeol demands respect when a person doesn’t know what he’s truly like. Hurt. Small. 

“Just through there, my lord,” the Gold points, and they turn, see a room with grand closed doors, gilded and beautiful. “They've only just begun, my lord.” 

“Thank you,” Chanyeol says, tilting his head at the Gold before pulling Sehun off by the hand, banging on the door loudly. “Gentlemen, I’m waiting.” 

He continues to bang his free fist onto the door before the door is unlocked, and Sehun sees— 

“Joongi,” Sehun says happily. 

“Hello,” Joongi says, pleasant, before turning to Chanyeol, bowing his head. “My lord. Thank you for not melting the door handle like you did last time.” 

“Baekhyun threatened to give me a permanent sunburn,” Chanyeol smiles. “I wear too much red for that.” 

Joongi laughs, steps aside, and Chanyeol pulls him through the threshold. Slowly, he realizes that he is being dragged into the middle of an argument. Hyunso sits at the head of the table, and Joongi sits next to him. Next to both of them, there is a man Sehun’s never seen before, younger than both of them, but older than Sehun. He is a Gold, with three ropes around him. He’s got black hair, still shaved close like Hyunso’s, and a cruel expression. 

Chanyeol ignores all of them, sits at the opposite side of the table, staring at Hyunso. There is no extra chair, so Sehun simply stands behind Chanyeol, not knowing quite what to do with himself. 

“My lord,” Joongi says. “Welcome. I must admit, we were surprised at your arrival.” 

“Surprise was the point, wasn’t it?” Chanyeol smiles. 

“Yes, I suppose it was,” Joongi says. “I’ve sent word to Baekhyun, of course. I hope I haven’t overstepped my bounds.” 

“No, no,” Chanyeol says with a wave of his hand. “I don’t expect you to keep me quiet. I’m not much for silence.” 

“No, my lord,” Joongi smiles. 

“ _Respectfully_ , my lord,” Hyunso interjects, his brows furrowing, black eyes burrowing into Sehun’s chest like the head of an arrow, “even though Baekhyun has extended his welcome to you, it’s..I mean, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit to the council?” 

“Respectfully,” Chanyeol says, “visiting kings are granted access to council meetings during peacetime, aren’t they? I think you’ll find the treaty says much the same.” 

“The treaty was signed—” 

“Nearly one hundred and fifty years prior,” Chanyeol smiles. “And it’s served us well since. Don’t you agree, Sehun?” 

Sehun is surprised to hear his own name, and he jumps a bit, before spitting out “Yes, my lord. I agree.” 

“Then it’s settled. We’ll stay.” 

“Respectfully, my lord,” the dark-haired Gold says, shifting forward in his chair, “ _you_ are permitted to attend. But a Red sitting in on a council meeting—” 

“He isn’t a Red, though, is he?” Chanyeol says, looking up at Sehun before looking back to the Gold. “I’m sure everyone in this room is quite aware of who he is. In fact, I’m sure everyone in the known world is aware of who he is.” 

“There’s been no official decree,” Hyunso says. “For now, he is nothing.” 

_Nothing_. He spits it out so simply. He must have quite a bit of power. Sehun wishes he never begged for his mercy. Wishes he’d let Baekhyun take his hand. Maybe more. 

Chanyeol studies his nails for a moment, drums his fingertips on the table. “If I were you, I would speak with a bit more tact. You know Baekhyun doesn’t like that sort of thing. Especially not about his favored.” 

_Favored, nothing._ Sehun is always drifting in two worlds, never belonging to either. It’s dizzying, terrible, and he wants to finally belong. Live comfortably knowing his place. And now, he’s decided. He is the favored. He’s not nothing. He’s never been _nothing_. Never will be _nothing_. 

“We might as well proceed,” Joongi offers. “Let Baekhyun settle the matter when he returns.”

Hyunso makes a noise of dissent. 

“You presume to speak for him, then?” Chanyeol asks. 

It quickly shuts him up, and he lowers his head. 

“Well, then,” Joongi says, walking to the door, “might as well get you a chair, Sehun, if you’ll be staying for the meeting.” 

Sehun smiles, bows slightly as Joongi calls for another chair to be brought to the room. 

He settles at the table happily, between Chanyeol and Joongi, flanked by the most powerful men in the room. Where he’s starting to believe he belongs.  
  


♔

It seems that the council had shifted from room to room looking to escape Chanyeol’s presence, but since they’ve begun attending regularly, they’ve only occupied one space. It is a beautiful room, as are the rest in the palace, but it is much...statelier. It seems to be a study of some sort. The wood furniture is a dark red, and the arms and headrests of all the chairs are carved with intricate patterns. You can find the pointed sun within them, hidden behind the arches, loops, and whorls.

The table is likewise carved, but the large oval has a more deliberate design. It is a depiction that Sehun can only just understand. A woman with a large wooden cane in her hand. A boy, crouched, hidden out of sight. But there are lines of light emitted from him. Sehun can imagine the boy standing, stretching out his arms and making a pulse of light shoot through the world. Did everything stop at that incredible burst of power and light? Did the world still in its turning for just that one moment? 

Baekhyun’s birth, Sehun realizes. He’s never asked about it. Never found out much. 

From floor to ceiling in the room, there are leather bound books and tied scrolls, and their sorting seems more complex than Sehun could understand. On more than one occasion, Sehun has stood before them, fingers petting over the soft backs, the weathered paper, wondering who gets to read them. Who commits all the knowledge to memory.

The meetings are mostly a dull affair, but they’re the kind of dull that Sehun enjoys. He likes to think a bit. He likes to find answers. Likes to uncover.  
They discuss the issues of the city, the problems faced by the people. They govern. They read letters from common folk, ones too sick or unable to make the pilgrimage throughout the warm months. 

“The fourth ward,” Hyunso says boredly, pointing at the map of the city. “Theft, lately.” 

“I’ll get more of the guards to patrol,” the Gold, _Yejun_ says. Sehun doesn’t much care for him, the head of the guard. “A dozen will do, won’t it?” 

“Should suffice. Quite a small section. A few will scare them straight,” Hyunso says. 

Slowly, Sehun raises his hand, but Hyunso and Yejun keep on talking, talk right over him. Before, he might have shirked away at such a rejection. Not any longer. He clears his throat and speaks. 

“If I might—” 

“Oh, an interjection,” Chanyeol says, leaning forward in his chair. “Go on, Sehun. Challenge them, will you? Between the two of them, they've no brains.” 

Joongi and Chanyeol, they both sit straight in their chairs while the other two slump into their seats, looking entirely bored with the whole ordeal. 

“Have you considered visiting with those who’ve been robbed to see what’s been stolen?” Sehun asks. 

Hyunso rolls his eyes, picks up the scrolls, scanning the writing before saying, “Mostly food and clothing, it seems. Shoes.” He flicks his eyes up to meet Sehun’s. “Does it matter?” 

“Well, aren’t...aren’t such things basic necessities?” Sehun frowns. “Stealing food and clothes? In the richest city in the world?” 

“There will always be thieves,” Yejun says. “They don’t care about what they steal, they just want more and more. It’s greed. It’s a sickness in them. The only way to deal with them is to watch them carefully. Punish them cruelly when you finally catch them.” 

Sehun frowns. 

“Is that not a pleasing option?” Chanyeol asks. 

“No,” Sehun says. “It isn’t, my lord.” 

“Then what is it you might suggest?” Yejun says. “Waving a magic wand until all the theft disappears?” 

Sehun folds his hands over the wooden table, and he tries to keep his voice from shaking as he speaks. “Compassion over cruelty. Greed only falls from the highest places. This is not greed. This is _need_.” 

Chanyeol makes a noise, and Sehun looks to him, sees a little pleased smile. Sehun turns again, looks to Joongi. 

“Might we prioritize this ward in the charitable works?” Sehun asks. “Make sure they are clothed and fed well?” 

“Yes,” Joongi says. “An excellent idea.” 

“And what happens when the crime does not fall? What happens when you’ve exacerbated the problem?” Hyunso asks. “Do you have a plan for that as well?” 

“If crime doesn’t fall,” Sehun says, “then you can move ahead with the larger guard. But I have faith that the theft will stop.” 

“Well, as long as you have _faith_ ,” Yejun mocks, as if he isn’t sitting in the palace of a god. 

The meeting goes on, discussions of the winter festival and things of lesser excitement as well. Joongi handles most of the tasks, seemingly doing it all. He is Baekhyun’s right hand, even potentially his left, and a small flicker of jealousy alights Sehun’s stomach. Baekhyun must trust him above all others. 

“That will be all for today,” Joongi says, before turning to Chanyeol and dipping his head. “My lord.” 

Chanyeol bows his head back, and as he stands from the chair, he stretches up to the ceiling for a moment, gesturing for Sehun to follow him not a moment after. 

“Come,” he orders. “Let’s walk the northern gardens.” 

Sehun knows practically every plant in the northern gardens by now, but he still follows closely behind Chanyeol as they move in silence, the rest of the room filtering out behind them. Chanyeol doesn’t speak again until they’re secluded in the garden, the clean, fresh air welcome. Sehun breathes in deeply, breathes out. He does like the meetings, but they give him a spot of tension in his shoulders that he can’t rid himself of. 

“You did well,” Chanyeol says, and he links his arm through Sehun’s. 

Chanyeol is not quick to praise, Sehun’s learned, but he is quick to praise _him_. 

“Thank you, my lord.” He keeps his eyes low to the ground, skimming along the dirt, but he smiles. 

“You like the meetings, then?” 

“Yes,” Sehun says. “I do.” 

“Good,” Chanyeol says, and he squeezes Sehun’s hand in his. “You’re smart, so you mustn’t be afraid to let them all know it. Besides, I do enjoy the way Hyunso’s face goes sour when you speak.” 

Sehun’s smile grows, and the ground feels that much softer under his feet.  
  


♔

Over the course of the final sennight before Baekhyun’s return, Sehun goes to each daily council meeting. Mostly he sits there quietly, learns more of the city and the people’s troubles. And there is _much_ to learn about running a city. That much should have been obvious, but Sehun’s head swims with the maps and the districts. The taxes and infrastructure, buildings to be torn down and rebuilt, the classes shifting and moving within their bounds. There were schools to govern, there were merchants to govern. There were artists, musicians, and artisans to patronize. He studies the words Joongi says, the way he speaks, and tries to commit it all to memory.

Chanyeol sits next to him, occasionally making snide remarks and contributing little besides making Sehun and Joongi snort with quieted laughter, the sound enough to make Hyunso and Yejun bristle. 

They’ve finished the restructuring of the dole, each ward now getting their fair share, when Joongi asks about the fourth. 

“Have they reported back?” Joongi asks, facing Yejun. “On the fourth ward from sennight past?” 

Yejun ducks his head, as if shameful. Sehun’s never seen him react such, and it sends a wave of heat into his stomach. 

“They have,” Yejun says. 

“And?” 

The council members and Sehun all turn to Chanyeol, who has one leg kicked over the arm of his chair, lounging. Very much a king. 

“ _And_ , my lord,” Yejun says, “it seems as though the increased dole has been fulfilled its purpose. For the time being, of course.” 

“Good thing,” Chanyeol says with a terribly charming smile. “As we can only solve problems in the time being.” 

“My lord—” 

“I think that just about does it for this afternoon, then,” Chanyeol says, swinging his leg back around and slapping his hands on his thighs. “Sehun, if you’d accompany me to my chambers for a glass of wine and a bit of that duck from the night before. The fucking plum sauce. My word...” 

The meeting adjourns, and Sehun stands, moving to follow Chanyeol through the threshold after Hyunso and Yejun have made their hasty retreats. However, Joongi prevents his exit, grabbing Sehun softly by the sleeve of his robe. 

“If I might borrow a moment of your time,” Joongi says kindly before bowing to Chanyeol. “I promise I’ll return him by the second bell, my lord.” 

Chanyeol frowns, eyes darting between the two of them. 

“A clandestine love affair?” Chanyeol asks, clucking his tongue. “The God of Light won’t be happy.” 

Joongi just barely resists rolling his eyes, smiling as though he’s heard quite enough from the Fire King. Sehun doesn’t know Chanyeol especially well yet, but still, he understands. 

“Alright, alright,” Chanyeol says, and he pokes Sehun in the chest. “Second bell, or I’ll blister the bottoms of your feet.” 

He retreats from the room, leaving Sehun alone with Joongi for only the second time. Happily, he is in much better condition this time around. 

“Sit,” Joongi says, and he goes to the walls. He stands in front of the bookcases, stares up at the towering tomes above him. “Have you ever read any of these?” 

“No,” Sehun answers. “I wasn’t sure if—” 

Joongi turns with a smile high on his face. “If you were permitted?” He laughs a bit, turns back, seemingly searching for something as he looks through the books. “You are permitted to do whatever you wish.” 

Sehun stands straighter at that. It’s not praise, per se, but it does sit along Sehun’s shoulders like epaulets, dripping gold from him. 

“Ah,” Joongi says, pulling a small red book from a stack of other small red books. “Here we are.” 

He sets the book down in front of Sehun, pulls a chair beside him. 

“He used to keep journals,” Joongi says. “Did you know it?” 

“No,” Sehun says, as there is much he does not know of his lover. 

“Kept track of every thought. Before and after he became tired of the council meetings.” He flips through the pages before pausing on a selection, holding it out in front of him, the scrawling messy and uneven. “ _From dawn, they’ve bothered me. A king isn’t a king if he can’t do as he wishes, and yet here I sit, unable to fulfill my own desires. I sit in the council meetings from ninth until twelfth, I make rounds through the city, I do as I’m told to do, and finally, once the second ninth tolls, I am permitted silence. Peace. I am not a king. I am merely a magician, and people love to look at light until it blinds them._ ” 

Joongi shuts the book closed, slides it into Sehun’s grasp. 

“You might find them...illuminating,” he says, a smile on his face.

He stands from the chair, the sound skipping over the floor, and he exits the room, leaving Sehun with the books of his lover’s past.  
  


♔

To put it plainly, even without the messy, wavering, wandering scrawl, the journals are difficult to understand.

There are countless names Sehun does not know, references to people and places that aren’t known to the world any longer. Time has passed them all behind, all of them except for Baekhyun. None of the entries are dated, either, the journals totally out of order, so even though Sehun tries to put them back into a cohesive line, he fails. 

Mostly what he finds in the books are hints of who Baekhyun was. Back before Sehun knew him.  
  


♔

_I got to ride today. Out to Lumencastle. I’ve thought many times about moving there for good, of course, but today...I thought seriously about it. It is the most beautiful place the world has ever known, and it seems a pity for the world not to center itself there._

_The journey was not for happy purposes. Then again, my journeys never are._

_It would be a lie to say that I didn’t enjoy it, though. I do enjoy it. In some tucked-away part of me, I love finding them. Blinding them. Making them know the power they besmirched. How many have called me ineffectual. Fruitless. Nothing but a boy with tricks._

_I’ll show them time and time again if I must._

_The man ran from under the skirt of Lumencastle. Nearly crossed the border into Kyungsoo’s territory, along the foot of the mount. He was dragged by the horses, and by the time we made it back to the castle, there was little left of him to set ablaze._

_Ineffectual. Fruitless. A boy with tricks. I’ve never been any of this. I’ve always been stronger than they know. And if I’ve got to string a hundred men from the high tower of the white palace in Lumencastle, hang them in the windows like wind chimes, then I’ll do it._

_There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do. I learned that long ago._  
  


♔

Sehun shuts it, shaken, and he starts putting together clues. Lumencastle. Before the ruin. It must have been, _gods_ , it must have been ages ago. A hundred years. A hundred and fifty? More? How old was Baekhyun? Sehun’s age? Younger?

There was such anger in him, such a strong desire to prove himself. As if there was ever anything to prove. 

He takes all the journals back to his chambers, to _Baekhyun’s_ chambers, and he barely sleeps now, pouring over them. There are so many stories, little inconsequential things about Baekhyun’s day to day, and it’s strangely comforting. He imagines Baekhyun writing in them by firelight, same as he reads them now, and the connection through time, a silk web catching them in its grasp...it keeps him up at night.  
  


♔

_Diplomacy is supposed to interest me, but it doesn’t. Meeting with old, rich, evil men who’d sooner throw me out a window than treat me with an ounce of respect does not interest me. Truth told, nothing interests me anymore. Not men, women, not wine. It all tastes like ash._

_Doyun instructs me to play nice with them even though Chanyeol hides behind them, and I smile as they spit on my legacy, my kingdom. The war will come for them, and I hope time sees them crying for my mercy._  
  


♔

The war. What had come of the war? He was so angry, so ruthless. Sehun sees hints of it now, memories of it, but nothing so visceral.

He knows there was fighting between the rest. He knows they took sides, squabbled in their petty ways, but—but what came of the war? What changed inside Baekhyun? What changed them all?  
  


♔

He finds no answers in the journals, only finds more and more questions. Sehun wonders why Joongi showed him the journals at all, what purpose he wished to serve with them. He thinks about what possible motives Joongi could have, but as he slips them back to their rightful place in the bookshelf, he admits that the most logical conclusion of all of Joongi’s behavior is that he truly wants what’s best for Baekhyun. Possibly what’s best for Sehun.

Is Sehun understanding Baekhyun’s past what’s best for them both? If that’s the key, then why’s Baekhyun been so secretive? Why’s he kept himself so guarded, even when he strips himself down to nothing in front of the golden eyes of his god? Sehun has got nothing to hide. Baekhyun, it seems...all he has are secrets, wrapped in ribbons.  
  


♔

For the past two suns, it has been any day now, so when Sehun wakes to the calling of trumpets, he all but leaps from the bed to throw on his robe. Swiftly, he moves through the room, working his fingers through his hair, staring at himself in the mirror. He’s not had time to bathe or fix himself prettily, but it does not matter.

He runs through the palace, his sandals loud across the stone floors and echoing in the stone corridors, but he can’t hold himself back. He can’t bite across the smile. He all but sprints, and by the time he reaches the hall, he bursts through the doors, the lines of priests down the stairs. He used to be there. Used to be one of them. No longer. 

He walks down the stairs slowly, and the gates open across the city. The light splits the city, and everyone, even the priests shield their eyes to it. Everyone except for him. Perhaps it’s because he’s been staring at Baekhyun for so long. The light could never bother him now. 

Steadily, the caravan approaches, and Baekhyun leads it on one of the black horses, the golden wings, the golden mane waving wildly. 

People line the streets, and they wave and cheer as Baekhyun trots past, and Sehun hears it, but he doesn’t. Really, the only thing he sees, the only thing he hears, is Baekhyun. And when he leaps down to Sehun, the horse flapping its mammoth wings, storm winds of dust all around them, he then leaps to Sehun, arms tied tightly around Sehun’s neck. 

Sehun lifts him from the ground, spins him in a wild circle before setting his feet back to the stone. 

“You best get inside,” Baekhyun says quietly. “Unless you want me to kiss you in front of everyone.” 

There are lists in Sehun’s head. Lists of how it all could go wrong. How they could be separated. How Sehun could die. How Baekhyun could send him away. Lists, and the items sprawl down the scrolls, on and on into forever. 

He throws the lists, all of them, in the golden fires of Baekhyun’s eyes, and he kisses Baekhyun as passionately as he knows how, telling him that he’ll take whatever comes. Whatever it means. Lists be damned.  
  


♔

No one stops them as they go to their chambers, no one would ever dare, and the kiss they share once the doors are closed is a ruthless one. Baekhyun slides into his space, filling the part he left empty. It was kept for him, kept empty, and now, he’s come home.

“Remember what I said,” Baekhyun whispers into Sehun’s mouth. “Remember I said I’d never leave your side again?” 

“I remember.” 

“I’m going to keep my word,” he says, and he bites Sehun’s lip between his teeth, draws a moan from Sehun as he pushes his hips into Sehun. “I’m going to stay right here.” He pushes a thigh between Sehun’s legs, forces him to split to make room. “Right here until you’re sick of me.” 

“I’ll never be sick of you,” Sehun says. “Never.” 

Baekhyun kisses him hungrily, starved, and Sehun is much the same. He’s never felt so desperate for it. He reaches new levels of desperation, he realizes, Baekhyun grinding into him as Sehun grinds back into Baekhyun. And maybe he will never stop finding new heights. His head swims with lust as they work against each other. 

“Get into the bath,” Baekhyun orders. “Now.” 

Silks and cottons fall to stone, and bare feet pad to the bathroom. Sehun sways his hips, and he feels like he’s luring Baekhyun closer as they walk. He steps into the bath, turning to see Baekhyun watching him. 

“Sit.” 

Sehun sits, and he watches as Baekhyun snaps his fingers before turning the water on. It falls over Sehun’s skin in a shower, the perfect warmth to it, and Sehun moans as the bath fills around him. 

Baekhyun goes to the vials, grabs one quickly, not even pausing to look. Without waiting a second more, he empties the vial into the bath, and immediately, the steams rise, smelling of vanilla, cinnamon, ginger. Ylang ylang, even. Sehun rests his head back against the stones as Baekhyun steps in, the waters ascending with his entry. 

He sits between Sehun’s legs, kneeling up to take Sehun’s jaw in his hands as the rains come down around them. The water ceases when Baekhyun kisses Sehun again, and the waves splash as they move to take each other. The spices in the air, they stick in his chest. When he inhales, he breathes them in along with Baekhyun. 

It is a meandering bath, and they can’t seem to keep their eyes on a goal, hands moving as they please. And it pleases him so, having Baekhyun back where he belongs, at Sehun’s side. Baekhyun climbs into Sehun’s lap, and Sehun holds his hips, pushing and pulling as they absently move against each other. 

It is slow, but they wash each other with reverence, the same reverence and devotion they’ve always employed, and when they’ve finally been washed clean, they dally no longer. 

Baekhyun doesn’t wait to watch Sehun stand on his own. He lifts him without lifting a finger, sends him floating through the air towards the bed, and the water drips from his body onto the stone floor.

“Baekhyun,” Sehun murmurs, head lolling back in the air as Baekhyun’s magic carries him as if it’s nothing. “I’m still wet.” 

“I like you when you’re wet,” Baekhyun says, and he follows him through the room towards the bed, Sehun’s body hovering prone just next to the bed. 

“Only between the legs.” 

Baekhyun slowly lowers Sehun until he’s hovering at the perfect height for Baekhyun to touch him. It’s gentle when Baekhyun glides his hands over Sehun’s skin, from his pectorals to his stomach. He tenses under the touch, and when Baekhyun’s hand then slips between his legs, he gasps. 

“Yes,” Baekhyun says, rubbing the water drops against him, into his skin. “Between the legs.” 

The rest of him goes bone dry within an instant, and he sighs at the sensation, like stepping into the light of day. 

“Lay me down gently,” Sehun whispers, and Baekhyun obliges him, sets him in the very center of the bed. “Thank you.” 

“I’ll only ever treat you gently.” He presses the words as a kiss to Sehun’s collarbone, his tongue sneaking out to chase the words away. He licks and sucks at the skin pulled taut over bone, laving over it until it’s probably red enough to stay for a sun. 

“Do you promise?” 

“I’ll promise you whatever you desire. Until forever.” 

Sehun shuts his eyes, overwhelmed. He tugs Baekhyun flat to him, wraps his arms around Baekhyun’s neck, his legs around Baekhyun’s back. 

“Fuck me,” he whispers. “Please.” 

Baekhyun prepares him, and it is gradual, almost sickeningly slow. The heat builds low in Sehun’s stomach as Baekhyun’s fingers, dripping with oil, stroke inside of him, petting him until he is arching his back, hungry for more, desperate. Always more desperate than he thought he could be. 

When he finally slips inside Sehun, a long thrust that leaves Sehun breathless, he has a moment of clarity, a single moment when he can see through the haze of lust in the air. This is dangerous. So very dangerous. He would do anything for this god. Trust any words he said, even if they were lies. Baekhyun works his hips, pumping in and in, and Sehun can’t see anything but the light. 

He comes with Baekhyun’s name on his lips, tears in his eyes. Home. He is home. And Sehun has been waiting. 

“Inside of me.” He squeezes his eyes shut, crosses his ankles over Baekhyun’s back. “Please. Inside.” 

Baekhyun throws his head back, and when Sehun looks up, all he can see is the line of his throat working as he empties inside Sehun’s body. Beautiful and soft. Sehun wishes he had the energy to sit up and kiss it. 

They are slow to release each other, Baekhyun rolling to Sehun’s side, offering Sehun a place to lay his head. And Sehun takes it greedily, kissing Baekhyun’s nipple and getting a delighted shiver in return. 

“It was a long journey. Are you hungry?” Sehun asks, running his hand over Baekhyun’s stomach. His voice is used, hoarse. For the first time in a great while. 

“Famished.”  
  


♔

They share a plate of fruit and cheese in bed, resting back against the pillows. They feed each other by hand, berries and slices of melon, and Sehun can’t resist the sugar. He sits up, licks along Baekhyun’s lips.

“Mm,” Baekhyun says. “Minx.” 

“Just hungry for you.” 

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, but he grabs Sehun’s jaw in another kiss. It tastes like fruit, sweet like the heat of summer. 

When they’ve finished, Sehun moves the platter to the table, and he can feel Baekhyun’s eyes on him again. He turns, looks coyly over his shoulder. 

“My lord?” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

Sehun likes that. Likes the power, and he holds it close to his chest. 

He walks back to the bed, crawls across it before settling at Baekhyun’s side. He strokes a hand along Baekhyun’s cheek, watches Baekhyun’s eyes shut. 

“Tell me of the ride,” Sehun says. 

Baekhyun snorts, opens his eyes. He fills Sehun with gold, over and over again. “Not much to tell. My ass is sore, though.” 

“Then I suppose we’re even.” 

Baekhyun smiles, reaches around to dip a finger inside Sehun only to hear him gasp. He plays through the seed he left there, pumps it in deeper for a moment before withdrawing it with a smile. 

“I suppose we are.” 

Quiet moments, thoughtful moments. Baekhyun holds him by the small of his back, and Sehun curls himself down to fit in Baekhyun’s arms. 

“Were you well without me?” Baekhyun asks. “Was it terrible without me?” 

“I missed you dearly,” Sehun says, and he lets that be his answer.  
  


♔

In the morning, Sehun wakes to the slamming of the chamber door.

He bolts up, clutching the sheets to his chest, and he sees Baekhyun, standing in the doorway, tears hanging in his eyes. Only just hanging there.

“W-What’s the matter?” Sehun asks, and he stands, goes to Baekhyun recklessly, nearly tripping over the bedding as he crosses the room. 

“Nothing,” Baekhyun says. “Go back to bed.” 

“Baekhyun.” 

“I said back to bed.” 

Sehun goes, and Baekhyun follows him, gingerly shrugging out of his robe to meet Sehun beneath the sheets, skin to skin. He sighs, rubs an eye, and then nuzzles closer into Sehun. It is warm, comforting like being in the arms of his mother, and Sehun is quick to feel his eyelids go heavy with sleep, on the verge of unconsciousness when Baekhyun suddenly speaks, voice much more clear than before. 

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Chanyeol, then?” 

“Ah,” Sehun says, blinking slowly. “Yes.” 

“And he’s...he’s been bringing you to the council meetings.” 

“He has.” 

Baekhyun is silent, and Sehun watches him, all the sleep forgotten. 

“Do you like the council meetings?” 

Sehun doesn’t know the right answer, the wrong answer. Only knows the truthful one. 

“Yes, my lord,” he says. 

Baekhyun barks a soft laugh, lays kisses along Sehun’s cheeks until he giggles, weakly shoving Baekhyun back. 

“Go in my stead, little larkling,” Baekhyun says. 

“W-What?” 

“Have you gone deaf because of Chanyeol?” He pulls on Sehun’s ear lobe. “I’ll make him walk to Last Breath naked if all his yelling’s made you deaf.” 

“I’m not deaf,” Sehun smiles. “But...you’d allow me to go to the council meetings?” 

Baekhyun’s brow furrows. “Of course I would. I am you, and you are me. We are part of the same whole, aren’t we? Equal in all things.” 

He’s never felt that equality before that moment, but it surges through him then. And he feels like a god of light, so weightless that he might float to the painted ceiling, hang there amidst the portraits. 

“I love you,” Sehun says. 

Baekhyun smiles, presses it against Sehun’s mouth. “And I you.”  
  


♔

Naturally, Sehun’s permanent fixture in the council meetings does not sit well with exactly half of the council. With Baekhyun leaving his executive power to Sehun, it is he and Joongi divided against Hyunso and Yejun.

Chanyeol, unfortunately, leaves the afternoon after Baekhyun’s arrival. 

After the meeting is over, he claps Sehun on the shoulder, smiling brightly. In a way, Sehun and Chanyeol have gotten quite close, and his return feels especially bittersweet. 

“When will you visit again, my lord?” Sehun asks. 

Chanyeol laughs loudly, and he pulls Sehun into a warm hug. “Careful now. Wouldn’t want your beloved to hear you so eager to see me again, would we?” 

Sehun tightens his arms around Chanyeol, feeling especially grateful. Thanks to him, he’s found his place here. He’s found his name. He is not only the lover of the king. He is the favored one. Beloved. And when he speaks, he speaks with the power of pure light behind him.  
  


♔

They retire to bed that evening after they eat a filling dinner of spit-roasted chicken, sugar-rubbed and smoky, and a mash of sweet purple potatoes. They bathe, the water warm and smelling of lavender. They wash each other well, kiss as they relax into the arms of the other. It is as typical a night as any, and when a night is so typical, Sehun wonders.

Baekhyun dries them with his power, floats himself to the bed as Sehun watches. He stretches, keens like a kitten, and Sehun follows. 

“Do you really not care for the council meetings?” Sehun asks. 

Baekhyun laughs, turns to his side to stare at Sehun. 

“I don’t care for them at all,” Baekhyun says. “I’ve been to more than I can count. It’s tiresome now. It's all boring. Terribly, terribly boring.” 

“But you used to love them,” Sehun says, and he flops onto the bed in front of Baekhyun, lands on his stomach. He cradles his chin in his hands. “Joongi said you did.” 

“Joongi wouldn’t know, he wasn’t alive yet.” He dots Sehun on the nose with the tip of his finger. “And neither were you.” 

“The councilors past must have kept excellent record of you,” Sehun smiles. 

“Yes,” Baekhyun says. “They didn’t let me move an inch without detailing it. It’s almost certainly why my reputation precedes me now.” 

Sehun goes quiet, has learned to foretell when Baekhyun will require such silence. They’ve grown mightily over the past months, and as they step ever closer to the next Triad, Sehun wonders how much further they can possibly grow. 

“I’ve been meaning to discuss something with you,” Sehun asks. “I’ve so many questions.” 

“In the morning,” Baekhyun says. “You’ve worn me out.” 

Sehun kisses him softly, with a smile, but the fear...it grows along with the rest of them.  
  


♔

When the morning comes, though, Baekhyun is gone. Much as he’d like to sigh, whimper, moan, he simply moves on. Eventually, he knows, Baekhyun will find himself with no other option but to answer to him. Sehun must be patient. He's not a child, and he's been so lucky.

Sehun’s day progresses as it has for the past month. He bathes, eats, deals with the motions of the council. It begins to take longer than before, of course, now that he’s imbued with Baekhyun’s power. He signs letters in Baekhyun’s name. He signs edicts in Baekhyun’s name. All he does, he does in Baekhyun’s name, feels almost as if he’s living within Baekhyun’s blood as part of him. 

That’s why he’s met with such confusion when Joongi comes to his chambers in the early evening, out of breath, clutching a book within his arm. 

“What is it?” Sehun asks. “What’s wrong?” 

“They’ve found a way to take it from you,” he says. “To get you off the council. Or...or worse.” 

His stomach plummets down into him, down into the depths, and a strange cold floods through him. A cold he doesn’t recognize. 

“Can you explain it to me?” Sehun asks calmly. 

Joongi gives a nod of his head, sets the book down on the table, flips back to a dog-eared page, the language so old that Sehun can only barely understand it. 

“There are antiquated laws,” Joongi says, “from when the kingdom was first established. Many of them are so ridiculous, so _silly_ that they go forgotten. We no longer follow their rule, not since Baekhyun came of age. Began his rule, got rid of the rest of the old kings.” 

“However?” 

Joongi winces. “ _However_ ,” and he points to a line. " _It is treasonous and lecherous to bed a man, and the penalty for such a crime shall be death._ ”

 _Oh_ , Sehun thinks, and for one moment, the terror stacks up through him along his spine like the leather bound spines of so many old books from so many old fools.

“But you need not fear,” Joongi advises. “With just one word, Baekhyun will—” 

_No_ , Sehun thinks, even as Joongi continues to speak. _For I can solve this problem on my own._

Without a moment’s hesitation more, Sehun closes the tome and picks it up. He walks to the fire, and casually, he tosses it to the flames. Joongi’s eyes go wide as the fire catches, spreads, the pages and leather igniting all the same. The book melts within the flames, and the smell courses through the room. 

“Sehun, what have you—” 

“You don’t need to spend such worry on me,” Sehun smiles. “I think I’m quite capable of handling it on my own.”  
  


♔

When he walks into the room, his eyes graze over the bookcases on the wall for just a moment before he stands, observes Hyunso and Yejun before him. They wear cruel, clever little smiles, and Sehun delights in them. He sits opposite, his usual seat, and Joongi follows him into the room, strangely fidgety. _Calm yourself_ , Sehun wants to say allowed. _They cannot touch me._

Behind Joongi, a line of armored Golds and Whites, swords at their hips. As though they intend to cut Sehun’s head from his neck there. He smiles. 

“Before we proceed…” 

“Yes,” Sehun interrupts, Hyunso’s eyebrows shooting up, “before we proceed, I’ll submit an edict for immediate ramification.” 

Joongi leaps at his side as he pulls the scroll from his robe, the official wax seal adorning it. It was no great trouble to take it. He asked Baekhyun for it in the morning, and Baekhyun asked no questions, only handed it to him with a kiss. 

Sehun flicks the seal up, unravels the paper, and reads: 

_On the twenty-seventh day of the second month, I, Byun Baekhyun, God of Light, King of the Bichwood, Bright One, so decree that Oh Sehun is granted title of The King’s Favored._

_The light extended over me is so extended over him, for as long as he wears the title of The King’s Favored, he is same as I, part of my greater whole. Any harm done to him will be henceforth called by its true name: treason._

_By my hand, so it shall be done._

Below it all, he’s signed Baekhyun’s name, stamped again with the royal seal. The glorious pointed sun, shimmering with the golden wax. 

He lets the scroll ravel back up, and he turns his head to look at Joongi. He wears the strangest expression, but Sehun can find pieces. Fear. Amusement. Horror. Triumph. But then, there is something else. Something Sehun would call awe. 

Then, Sehun looks to Hyunso and Yejun, relishes in the looks upon their faces. The shock drenches them, soaks them cold down to their bones, and Sehun truly, truly revels in it as they stare, open-mouthed at him. Perhaps they think him the same boy who walked into the palace. Maybe they thought they could threaten him into accepting an expulsion. But of course, no. He is not the same boy. And no one can threaten him. 

“And so this is how my lord feels?” Hyunso asks. “How he _truly_ feels?” 

Sehun smiles. “I’m afraid it is.” 

Without another word, Hyunso stands from the table, strips himself of the ropes around his waist. Yejun follows suit. In total, eight white and four gold ropes lay across the great carved table. 

“Don’t bother whispering into his ear,” Hyunso hisses. “I’ll find him myself and tell him that the reason we’re leaving the temple is because of _you_.” 

“Hyunso, Yejun,” Sehun says sweetly. “My friends, I confess. Your words confuse me.” 

Yejun scoffs, crosses his arms across his chest. “What, shall we stay so that you can see us burned at the stake?” 

Sehun frowns. “I would never resort to such violence. It simply isn’t in my nature. However, if Baekhyun got word of what you’d had planned...well, I suppose it is in your best interest just to leave before he hears.” 

The men walk from the room, the Gold and White guards not moving even a fraction as the men, disgraced and outplayed, leave for good. 

Sehun smiles, stands.

“Who do you serve?” Sehun asks the guard. 

“Our king. Our god,” they reply. They’ve been trained well, and Sehun’s thankful for it. 

“Back to your stations, then.” 

They march from the room, leaving it empty. And just for a moment, Sehun lets himself feel proud, feel worthy of the title of Favored. 

“S-Sehun,” Joongi calls. “It’s...we’ve just lost the head of the guard. The head of the priesthood. This—this is an issue that requires—” 

“How many priests serve the palace?” 

“One thousand?” Joongi answers. “Maybe more.” 

Sehun turns to him, hands on his shoulders. Joongi is good, all the way through. He’s always served Baekhyun well. Always served _Sehun_ well.

“You know this place better than any other,” Sehun says. “And we trust you in finding the appropriate replacements.” 

“We?” 

“He and I,” he smiles. 

As he walks from the room, he feels like a crown has been placed upon his head. Shining gold. To sit there forever.  
  


♔

The very next day, the edict goes out to the masses. Sehun is no longer simply a temple-keeper, simply a man serving a god. He is the Favored, and the title will sit behind his name. The King’s Favored. And the songs will be written of his beauty. His place at Baekhyun’s side through it all.

Baekhyun orders a statue of him carved for his chambers, and much to Sehun’s dismay, there is nothing to be done to stop him. 

“Excessive?” Baekhyun gasps. “What’s excessive about it?” 

Sehun stares up at the piece of marble that’s at least double his size, the intricate ladder system wrapped around the raw stone so that the carver, a young man in a black robe, can start to chisel away at it. 

“It is...large, my lord.” 

“ _You_ are large.” 

Sehun snorts, and immediately the carver’s eyes look to him as though he expects Sehun to be beheaded for such insolence. He’s more likely to live on the surface of the sun. 

“Not so large as this.” 

“And?” Baekhyun asks boredly. “Can’t I do as I like?” 

“Yes, of course, my lord. I was only saying that this is perhaps an...immoderate use of our time.” 

“Nonsense,” Baekhyun says. “I’m king. I’m a god. I’ll do as I please.” 

“Yes, my lord,” Sehun says, ducking his head subserviently. 

“And I wish to look up your face, my love,” Baekhyun says, and he raises Sehun’s gaze, two delicate fingertips at Sehun’s chin. “I wish to let everyone know the beauty that’s graced this world. To tell them that the only one allowed to possess such beauty is the God of Light himself, and that if they wish to take that from me, they must first plunge this world into eternal darkness, a darkness so eternal that it will erase all memory of light even from the minds of babes.” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

“I will tell them, my love,” Baekhyun says. “I will.”  
  


♔

Being the Favored is not so much different as before. He still wears the finest clothes, still eats the finest foods, still attends the council meetings, still beds the king, still stands directly in sunlight all hours of the day. It is all the same.

The only thing that changes is the way people treat him. 

Joongi finds the replacements for Hyunso and Yejun with speed. The new head of the priesthood is a large, soft spoken man named Hyunwoo. He wears three white ropes around him, and he quietly tells Sehun he’s interested in making the Reds and new recruits more comfortable when they first arrive. Obviously, Sehun takes a liking to him immediately, especially to the gentle smile he always seems to wear. 

The head of the guard has only one white rope on his waist, but he is big, about Hyunso’s size. He looks exceptionally strong, and then, as Sehun is observing him, he bows to Sehun. 

“Hoseok,” he introduces himself with a timid little smile. “And I’m...I’m afraid I don’t know how to address you. Sir?” 

Sehun remembers the last time he was called _sir_. It was all so different, but for a bit, he loses himself in who he was back then. Smaller, certainly. Quieter, undoubtedly. Less himself? Truthfully, he doesn’t know who he is. He’s some malleable thing, a metal gone liquid in heat. All of him is shifting, always shifting. Becoming different. 

Is he better? Or is he worse? It seems to be something you cannot know until it is all over. 

“O-Oh,” Sehun stutters. “Sehun is just fine.” 

“Are you...are you sure?” 

“Quite sure,” Sehun says, and he opens his arms, takes Hoseok in a hug. “Think of me as you think of yourself.”

“Alright,” Hoseok says, and he turns to Hyunwoo, pleased. “We’re happy to get the chance to serve in such an honored position.” 

“The honor is ours,” Sehun says, before gesturing to the chairs. “Shall we?”  
  


♔

Baekhyun and he walk arm in arm through the city on only special occasions. The people part for them, gasp as they look upon Baekhyun in all his glory. And some gasp for Sehun too.

They walk with the king’s guard, Hoseok at the head of the group, but a little girl breaks through, dips through the legs of the guard, a yellow flower in her hands. Yejun would have never allowed such a thing. Sehun likes Hoseok much more. Much, _much_ more.

She looks up at Sehun with bright green eyes, smiles at him. 

“This is for you,” she says, and she sticks out her fist, the stem of the flower clutched almost to the point of snapping. “Won’t you take it, my lord?” 

But he is no lord. The power he’s been given, he took it from Baekhyun’s hands. Sehun kneels in front of her, takes her hands in his. 

“Shouldn’t the prettiest person in the whole kingdom receive the prettiest flower?” he asks, gently pushing her hands back to her. 

“Yes, my lord,” she says. And she pushes her hands right back, tries to put the flower into his hands. “So you must take it.” 

“But it is yours,” he says, and he finally takes the flower, reaches forward, threads the stem of the flower through her curly hair until it sits there on it’s own, tucked behind her ear, shining in the sun. “There. A crown fit for a queen.” 

She giggles, scampers away, and he stands back to his full height. 

They move through the city, the sounds of it alive around them, and Baekhyun threads his fingers through Sehun’s. 

“They love you,” Baekhyun whispers. “Everyone, from babes to elders. They all love you.” 

It is a creeping love, the type that can ensnare you, and Sehun feels the vines wrapping all around them. Who could resist such a life? Who could deny the temptation of universal affection, of riches from the heart and mind? Who?  
  


♔

Baekhyun requests that he poses for a painting, _another_ painting, and he rolls his eyes.

“Don’t make such a face,” Baekhyun scolds him. “Else you’ll find it trapped in a portrait.” 

“If only _I_ could be trapped in a portrait.” 

Baekhyun taps the painter on the shoulder, and just like that, the brushstrokes stop. Slowly, Baekhyun runs his hand along the painter’s back. Then, he steps out from behind the canvas, a mischievous smile on his face. 

He winds his hips as he walks, deliberate in each step. He crosses to wear Sehun stands, presses a kiss to Sehun’s lips, raised up on the tips of his toes. 

“Don’t utter such blasphemy,” Baekhyun says. “I’ll be forced to punish you.” 

“My lord doesn’t know how to punish me,” Sehun whispers, and it glides along Baekhyun’s lips. “I enjoy all his discipline.” 

Baekhyun moves a hand down, covers Sehun’s pectoral with his palm. 

“Careful now,” Baekhyun says. “Or I’ll make him start the painting over.” 

All Sehun can think about now is getting Baekhyun into bed, getting Baekhyun underneath him, so he poses as prettily as he knows how. Patience is a virtue, after all.  
  


♔

Baekhyun holds him by the hand, pulls him through the winding corridors of the palace. But Sehun knows this path, certainly, knows it like he knows the rest of them. Over the months, he has learned every in and out of this place. His new home.

This, he knows, as Baekhyun gingerly leads him, is the way to the menagerie. 

“What are we doing?” Sehun laughs. 

“Keep your eyes closed,” Baekhyun orders, but Sehun disobeys him as he lets himself be guided through the halls. “There’s a surprise for you.” 

It sings through him, and he walks a bit faster, keeping up with Baekhyun instead of lagging behind, and as they walk into the menagerie, there are Golds tending to cats, birds. But one bird flies free. 

“It’s small, of course,” Baekhyun says, and he holds out his hand. The bird, as if trained to his voice, flies to him, lands on the perch of his index finger. “But all larks are small.” 

Its plumage is black, streaks of gold and red, and Sehun is mesmerized by the way the feathers glitter in the sunlight. Its beak is fiery red, and it nips gently at Baekhyun’s finger before he flies free once more, circling the enclosure and singing a pretty song. 

“It’s yours,” Baekhyun says. “I’ve got it for you, larkling.” 

The pride surges through him like a bolt of lightning, like a beam of light. He watches the bird fly for a moment more. Then, Sehun turns back to Baekhyun, kisses him hard, there in front of them all, and the little lark’s song fills Sehun from head to toe.  
  


♔

Every time they make love, it’s like they are fucking within an inch of their life. Sehun doesn’t know if it’s part of Baekhyun’s godliness, the way he seems to leach the energy straight from Sehun’s veins. Sweat pours over both of them, and they lazily bathe, letting the water wash the salt away.

“I’m hungry,” Baekhyun says, arm slung over his face as he lays there, legs spread, completely naked. “Fetch a guard. Have someone bring us something sweet.” 

“Mm,” Sehun says. “Cakes.” 

“ _Cakes_.” He wiggles happily, side to side. “Go, go. Quickly now, little lark.” 

Sehun makes the order quickly, just as Baekhyun asked him to, and when he returns to bed, he pets through Baekhyun’s hair, kisses him softly. It’s indulgence to the highest degree, the way they lick into each other’s mouths. Languorous. Infatuated and lovely. 

The knock at the chamber door is timid, but Sehun hears it all the same. 

“Hurry,” Baekhyun says, poking him in the chest. “Your king awaits his dessert.” 

Sehun smirks back to the bed over his shoulder, tilting his hips. Baekhyun’s gaze goes to his ass, and Sehun practically feels it along his skin. Sweeter than chocolate. He does not bother to cover himself. There’s a freedom to it, and that alone is draped over him as he opens the door. 

But there, staring up at him, is Taeil. 

Sehun’s mouth drops open, and a thousand thoughts flood him within the second following. _My friend, how are you? My friend, I’ve missed you. I’m sorry for leaving you. How can I help you? Is there anything you need? I can provide you with it all. Have you heard what they call me now? Isn’t it beautiful?_

Before he can say anything, though, Taeil bows quickly and shoves the tray into Sehun’s hands. He turns heel and leaves, going faster than Sehun’s ever seen him move. Faster than he can remember. 

“Wait,” Sehun calls. “Wait, I—” 

But Taeil disappears from sight when he rounds the corner. And Sehun is frozen in place, a tray of chocolate cake in his hands. 

Unbeknownst to him, Baekhyun has padded over from the bed, and he places his arms around Sehun’s waist, hooking his chin over Sehun’s shoulder when he raises himself high. 

“Is everything alright, larkling?” he asks. 

“Y-Yes. My apologies.” 

Baekhyun tilts Sehun’s head to the side, captures him in a kiss. “There is nothing to apologize for, my lover.”

Even when they return to bed, the thick chocolate ganache dripping from their fingers as they feed each other, it sits heavily in Sehun’s stomach. All the guilt mixing with all the sweetness.  
  


♔

It does not leave him. He cannot understand why Taeil ran. Is he...is he upset? He must be upset. There is no other explanation. Sehun can’t seem to find any other reason. And he thinks, tries to find another way. But the fact remains: he’s done something horrible. He can feel it in his gut. He broke his promise. Broke it without a thought.

Sehun lies back, leaning his weight onto Baekhyun, and the water moves around them, the waves rising and falling as he sinks back. 

“Lover,” Baekhyun says, and the flat of his palm settles on the low part of Sehun’s stomach. He plays through the hair that leads down, scratching his fingernails through it. “What seems to be the problem?” 

Sehun turns, and Baekhyun smiles at him. “Problem?” He takes Baekhyun’s chin between his thumb and his finger. “There is no problem.” 

Baekhyun kisses him soundly and again, the water moves around them. 

“Do not lie to me,” Baekhyun says. 

“Lying to a king is treason.” 

Baekhyun smiles. “Shall I call you traitor, then?” 

Sehun shuts his eyes, lets Baekhyun stroke deft fingers down Sehun’s neck. 

“No. There is no problem.” 

He turns back around, and Baekhyun’s arms fall back into place, right around Sehun’s waist, like the red rope from so long ago.  
  


♔

He thinks of it morning, noon, night. All through the waking hours. It does not leave him, stuck in him like a knife. Were he to remove it, though, he fears he might bleed out all over the pristine marble floors.

Sehun begins to search for Taeil, after council meetings. In the mornings, when Baekhyun is busy making appearances at the temple. In the evenings, when Baekhyun is busy with other things, visits with sick children, the charity work that Sehun convinces him to do. Sehun is single-minded for a good while, only able to think of the look in Taeil’s eyes. The way he dropped the tray into Sehun’s hands and took off running. 

It is a sennight before Sehun finds Taeil, and when he does find him, it is in the most unexpected place. 

The washing basins for the laundry are below the main floor, and the winding steps down are thin, close together. You’ve got to pay attention to them, or else you’ll tumble headfirst down them. More than one careless fool has broken a leg on them, and Sehun doesn’t intend to be one of them. 

The sound of work is intriguing, of course, because the laundry is normal done mid-afternoon. There shouldn’t be anyone there, but when Sehun’s feet hit the cold dusty floor, he sees a Red. Three ropes. Shorter than he. Hair longer than he remembers. 

“Taeil,” Sehun calls. 

With wide eyes, Taeil turns, and when he realizes who has called him, he immediately turns back around. 

“Taeil. I'm sorry. Won't you speak with me?” 

Still, there is no answer. Taeil lets the splashing of the water be the answer, scrubbing the fabric of the robes soapy in the huge bath. Sehun waits, waits long enough that Taeil finishes with his washing, moves over to the tables piled high with bedclothes. As Taeil begins to fold, Sehun crosses to grab one, but Taeil moves like a cat. 

He swats Sehun’s hand away, leaving a stinging pain behind.

“Taeil,” Sehun tries. But it’s to no avail. “Taeil, please. Please, can't we speak?” 

Taeil snorts, continues to fold the linens as the hot water’s steam rises in the laundry room. 

“I asked you a question,” Sehun says. 

“Oh, and will you have my hand cut off if I don’t answer you, my lord?” Taeil asks. 

Sehun’s brow furrows. “What are you—” 

“I told you,” Taeil says. “I told you I needed you. Didn’t I? Didn’t I say it?” 

“Y-Yes, but I thought—” 

“No. Do not lie, especially not to my face. You didn’t think. You thought nothing of me. You only thought of yourself. You only thought of the ways you were blessed.” 

“Taeil, please, I beg you,” Sehun says, grabs Taeil by the arm. 

He hisses out a breath of pain, wrenches his arm back before shaking Sehun off of him. 

“You beg to no one except the god we serve. And you pay no mind to even friends. I thought you were kind. Good. But look at you. Look at what he’s done to you.” 

“Taeil, be careful.” 

“No,” Taeil says. “I won’t be careful. I do not care if it’s blasphemy. He’s made you thoughtless. He’s made you indulgent. Childish and petty, same as him. You sound exactly like him now. And you act just like him. A boy-king with all the world’s gold to his name, pissing it away like it’s nothing.” 

Sehun takes the blows, knows, deep inside him, that he deserves each and every one of them. Why was he so easily swayed? Simply because it was Chanyeol who told him to be swayed? There is a thrall about them, Baekhyun and Chanyeol, this untouchable magic that makes you want to do as they say, but Sehun didn’t realize it worked so well on him. Didn’t know until now. 

The clothes he wears. The food he eats. The work he does. It is finery, all so fine that Sehun can’t even remember what it’s like to sleep in the dormitories, the rolled mattresses. He can’t hardly remember the bruises on his body, the work that grinded his bones together. 

“I’m sorry,” Sehun says with a bow. 

“You aren’t sorry.” 

“I am,” Sehun says as he stands. “Please, I—” 

“I want no more of your apologies,” Taeil says, and as he turns from Sehun, he sees the bruise on the back of Taeil’s neck, inelegant rips and tears at the hems of his robes. 

His mind begins to swim, begins to toss and turn. The possibilities. Shin? One of the brothers? Another Red? A Gold? Even a White? 

“W-Who’s hurting you?” Sehun asks, voice trembling with the rage that boils inside him. “Tell me their names.” 

Taeil looks back over his shoulder, looks Sehun up and down before turning back to the linens. 

“I don’t need your help,” he says. “I’ll handle _my_ own business, just as you’ve always handled your own. There is no need for us to speak. We mean nothing to each other.” 

Sehun thinks of the way Taeil’s hands worked gently across his own, the flax bandages and the honey. The way they carried the weight of the work between them. The way they laughed together. The—the stories they told each other. Taeil does not mean nothing to him. Taeil means quite a bit. Maybe everything. 

“Leave,” Taeil commands after a moment. “I do not wish to see your face any longer.” 

Sehun doesn’t blame him. He feels covered in a thick, impenetrable fog of disgust, feels rotten, rotten down to his very core, and he turns, eyes wet with tears, but before he steps through the threshold, Taeil _calls his name_ , a dagger of hope sticking right into his chest. 

Sharply, Sehun turns, eager. 

“Are you going to tell him what I’ve told you?” Taeil asks. “What I’ve said tonight?” 

“No,” Sehun breathes. “No, of course not.” 

He does not react much. And Sehun only watches as the wheels turn in his head. 

“Other Reds,” Taeil says, “they told me you were looking for me.” 

“I was.” 

“A man possessed, they said,” and he smiles at the thought. Then, he looks up, the smile sliding off Taeil’s face. “But I don’t know that I can trust you. I don’t know if you care about anything or anyone besides your own pride.” 

Without a second thought, Sehun drops to his knees, leans forward until his forehead touches the stones. Taeil gasps softly, but in the room, it echoes, sounds much bigger and louder as it hits him. 

“I’m sorry,” Sehun says, and the tears start to fall from his cheeks. “And I’ll—I know I’ve made mistake after mistake. I know I broke my promise. But I won’t break any more. And I’ll...I’ll help you. I will. I’m sorry. You can...you can trust me, Taeil. I’ve—I’ve missed you. I know you won’t believe me, and you’re right not to, but I’ve...I’ve missed you. I have.”

He stays there for a moment turning to minutes, forehead pressed to the floor. And he cries, shivers through his tears as he lays himself prostrate before Taeil. His first real friend. 

Taeil says nothing, and when Sehun finally stands, Taeil’s got tears in his eyes. 

“You can come here,” he says quietly. “Tomorrow night. It’s always just me.” 

Sehun’s heart is shattered, but the words step on the shards, grind them down to dust. Taeil alone doing the work meant for five. 

Who has he become in just one Triad? 

“I’ll be here,” Sehun says. “I’ll help.” 

Taeil nods, reaches up to brush the tears away, and Sehun does the same before he leaves for the evening.  
  


♔

They bathe in the rose petal oil, the scent of the flowers sticking to their skin, and Sehun tucks Baekhyun into bed, kisses him on the forehead.

“And where do you think you’re going?” he asks mischievously. 

“I’ve got...something to attend to,” Sehun offers. 

“Yes, you do. And I’m right here.” 

He throws back the sheets, his naked body just as beautiful and tempting as always. Baekhyun reaches out, takes Sehun’s hand in his, guides him to glide it down his soft pectoral, down his oblique, down to settle on the low of his stomach. 

“Attend to me, lark,” Baekhyun whispers. 

“My lord, I mustn’t,” Sehun says. 

“What have I told you? About calling me that?” 

“I’m sorry,” Sehun says. And he moves his hand along Baekhyun’s soft skin, holds him by the hip bone as he sits on the side of the bed. “But I’ll be back by the tenth bell.” 

“An _hour_?” Baekhyun says, sitting up sharply. “Where will you be for an _hour_?” 

“Does it matter this much?” 

“Of course it matters,” Baekhyun says wildly. “What do you mean?” 

“I’ll be back soon,” Sehun says. “It’s quite important that I go.” 

“Sehun-ah,” he says, sweetly. “Larkling. Little love of mine. Are you keeping secrets from me now?” 

“It’s nothing like that. I’ve just—I’ve been quite cruel.” 

Baekhyun scoffs, takes Sehun in his arms, holds Sehun to his chest. “Cruel? My pure-hearted lark? Never. Who said such a thing? I’ll pluck their eyes out and feed them to the bird.” 

Sehun groans, buries his face a little deeper into Baekhyun’s embrace. 

“Is this about your little Red?” 

Sehun pulls back, stares at Baekhyun. “What?” 

“That Red,” Baekhyun says. “Your friend. Is this about him?” 

“Baekhyun, w—” 

“Taeil,” Baekhyun says, and there is venom in his mouth, like it drips from fangs. “His name is Taeil, isn’t it? He seemed quite cross with you. Wouldn’t look at you. Wouldn’t speak to you. More jealousy? Shall I deal with him the way I dealt with the rest?” 

Sehun’s stomach turns suddenly like he means to be sick, but he grabs Baekhyun by the shoulders, holding on as if the room turns around him. 

“My lord, I—” 

Baekhyun slithers into his space, a snake creeping between his legs as he pushes Sehun back, lays his body flat onto the bed as he straddles Sehun, his hands on Sehun’s shoulders, pinning him down. 

“Or is he your lover?” Baekhyun asks, mouth against Sehun’s. “Have you kept another alongside me?” 

“My lord, _no_ , how could you even—” 

“Ask such a thing?” He smiles. Mean. Cruel. He sits up, and he looks incredibly tall from Sehun’s vantage, looking entirely a god, entirely a king. “I have lived a very long time. I know what men do. I know how men act. What they say to your face, how they turn and say something else.” 

“I would never do such a thing,” Sehun says. “I’ve _pledged_ myself to you.” 

“And you vowed to serve as a keeper. How long did it take for you to forsake such vows in favor of staying in my bed, eating at my table, drinking from my cup?” 

“My lord, you—you were the one who asked it of me!” 

“You do whatever it is people ask of you,” Baekhyun says. “You’ve no loyalty.” 

“I _do_ ,” Sehun whispers as emphatically as he can, and he’s very near raising his voice, shaking with emotion. “I am loyal to _you_. In this life and the next, I am _loyal_ to you. Through pain and heartbreak and strife and famine, death and destruction and tragedy, my lord, I will stay by your side through it all. Even if it means I must die by your hand.” 

Baekhyun leans down, his chest against Sehun’s as he kisses him passionately, licks into his mouth as if he wants to take the words from the source and swallow them. Nothing tastes better than a vow, a pledge, a word of promise. Nothing tastes sweeter. They kiss, kiss, kiss, and Sehun gives himself up to it, gives more than he has to give. Until he is nothing. No one. 

“I’m sorry,” Baekhyun says, and his chest heaves against Sehun’s. “If there is only one thing I know in this world, it is your loyalty. Your honor. I...I was always the one tempting you. Drawing you forward into whatever I wished.” 

Sehun closes his eyes, lets it sink into him. And it is truth that he speaks. 

“What’s the Red want?” Baekhyun asks. 

“Taeil,” Sehun says. “I’ve—He is same as me. He is kind. They take advantage, my lord. He was...he was my only friend, and I was his.” 

“Ah.” Baekhyun tuts, sits back, back against the wall now. Sehun scrambles up to face him. “What a tragedy.” 

“Yes, my lord, I feel—I feel ill when I think of the way I’ve treated him.” Baekhyun laughs sharply, a little cackle out of his mouth. “What?” 

“He would have done much the same,” Baekhyun says. “There are few who can resist the allure.” 

“He can,” Sehun says. 

Baekhyun stares at him for a long while, so long that Sehun thinks he’ll be trapped for the evening, stuck at Baekhyun’s side even with his promise to Taeil. But then, Baekhyun takes Sehun’s hand in his, brushes his thumb along the back of Sehun’s hand. 

“I’m sure you have much to say to your old friend, so be back by the twelfth bell, larkling,” Baekhyun says. “Or else I’ll send a guard looking for you. You know I don’t sleep well without my lover at my side.” 

Sehun surges forward, kisses Baekhyun with all his might until they are breathless and grinning. 

“Yes, my lord,” Sehun says. “Twelfth bell, at latest.”  
  


♔

He heads down to the laundry room, same careful steps along the staircase. The moisture from the baths make the stones slippery, so Sehun takes his time, holds the wall as he moves, and when he gets to the bottom, there is only one sconce lit, the one closest to the landing. Sehun furrows his brow, sure that Taeil said ninth bell.

He takes the torch from the wall, lights it along the fire and begins to light the rest of the sconces in the room, lighting the flames for the water. Just as he stands from lighting the last fire, a hand clasps him on the shoulder, and he wheels around, horrified. 

“You’re jumpy now, aren’t you?” Taeil smiles. 

“Just a bit,” Sehun laughs. “Sorry.” 

Taeil holds up a hand as if it was nothing, pulling the large baskets of laundry behind him: one is piled high with the starchy white robes of the priests, the other with rags and rugs from the kitchens. The final has bedclothes, and they reek, a sour smell in the air as he drags them forward. 

“Ugh,” Sehun groans, wrinkling his nose. “Where’ve they come from?” 

“Infirmary,” Taeil says. “It’s my newest task.” 

“You _alone_?” 

“Me alone,” Taeil confirms. 

Taeil goes to the wall where there are brushes and sponges, stools and benches. He pulls two brushes off the wall, two stirring poles as well, and kicks a stool towards Sehun before dragging another over for himself. 

“How did you carry all this down on your own?” Sehun asks. 

“Stack the baskets,” Taeil shrugs. “You find ways to save yourself trouble.” 

The guilt creeps back up in him. Was it because of him? Did Sehun leave his only friend vulnerable? Did they...did they do it to hurt _Sehun_? 

“You’re thinking too much,” Taeil says, sitting down at the stool and waiting for the water to heat. “And you think loudly.” 

Sehun mirrors him, sits at the next tub, watches the water start to swirl. “I’ve been told that before, actually.” He smiles. 

“Perhaps you ought to start thinking quietly,” Taeil says. 

“Perhaps I ought to.” 

Once the water comes to temperature, they dump the contents of the baskets into the tubs. Immediately the room is filled with an even worse sour smell, and Sehun covers his nose and mouth with his arm. 

“We’ve got to let that one soak,” Taeil points to the middle one, sprinkling the powdered soap into the water of all three tubs before throwing one of the stirring poles to Sehun. 

He catches it, sticks it into the center of the tub, and begins to stir it round. It’s quite nice, actually, getting to work again. Even nicer still getting to work with Taeil. 

“H-Have you been well?” Sehun asks timidly.

“We don’t need to speak,” Taeil says. “Let’s just work for a while.” 

So Sehun keeps his mouth shut, keeps his head quiet, and for the first time in a long while, he works.  
  


♔

Every night, Sehun goes to the depths of the palace, and he aids Taeil in his laundry duties. Mostly, they work in silence, and that’s fine with Sehun. Taeil will talk when he’s ready, and he tries his best to honor that.

It’s a sennight, then another. And when Sehun goes down to the washroom that evening, Taeil is sitting on one of the folding tables, legs crossed. Sure enough, the three big baskets of laundry are next to him, but there is also a little package in front of him on the table, a cloth wrapped and tied around something, and when Sehun goes to him, he uncrosses his legs, lets them dangle off the table. 

“Sit,” Taeil says. So Sehun sits, lets his own legs dangle from the table the same way. “I didn’t know if you still knew how to take orders from people, Favored.” 

Sehun rolls his eyes. 

Taeil takes the ties of the cloth, gently pulls on one and lets it fall to the table. Inside, there are a couple thick slices of crusty white bread, toasted, spread with butter and gallberry jam. It smells so good, something basic and comforting about it. 

“Nicked it?” Sehun asks. 

“Of course.” 

Sehun watches as Taeil takes a slice, bites into it. He smiles, watching Taeil enjoy the rare treat. Sehun kicks his legs, used to the quiet now. Throughout his day, all he hears is chatter. From Baekhyun, from the newly appointed heads, from everyone. But this—this is the time he enjoys most. With Taeil. 

Taeil then moves his hand, pushes the little square of cloth over, and Sehun stares at it. 

“Eat,” Taeil says. “It’s strange to eat by yourself.” 

Sehun hesitates: he doesn’t have to steal food if he wants something rich, something sumptuous. All Sehun has to do is ask. 

“I said _eat_.” 

Then, Sehun understands. 

He takes a slice of the toast, crunches into it. Taeil smiles as Sehun chews, and Sehun smiles back as best he can with his mouth full. It feels like the Ninth, like the Tenth, when they were new friends. When everything was new. 

They don’t speak, not through the first piece of bread at least. But Sehun can’t help himself, the dam bursting. 

“Are things better now?” he asks. “With the rest of the Reds?”

“I’m still doing the laundry on my own every night.” 

Sehun smiles. “I requested you keep this task to yourself. It gives me the chance to...to meet with you in private again.” 

He’d spoken to Hyunwoo and Hoseok about the problem, the bullying and the abuse, and they promised him that they would take care of it. Sehun kept an eye on it as best he could, but there were so many other things to deal with, he figured a bit of delegation wouldn’t hurt terribly. 

Taeil scowls a bit, but then it fades quickly. “I did tell you I could handle it on my own, didn’t I?” 

“Yes, you did,” Sehun says. “I simply didn’t want you to.” 

“And why not?” 

Sehun kicks Taeil’s foot, and Taeil kicks him back. “Because you aren’t alone. And you’ll never be alone, not as long as I’m here. I swear it to you.” 

Taeil falls silent, and Sehun wonders if he’s said something wrong. But then, Taeil dusts his hands off on his pants, hops down from the table. And after he throws the empty cloth into one of the baskets, he offers Sehun a hand from the table. 

Sehun takes it with a smile, jumps down. 

“Got more linens from the infirmary tonight,” Taeil says, nudging a basket to Sehun with his foot. “Your favorite, Favored.” 

“My _favorite_ ,” Sehun groans, but it makes Taeil laugh, and Sehun can’t remember the last time he made that happen.  
  


♔

From then on, they talk about all manner of things. Memories, families, goings on in the capital. Sehun has plenty to talk about, of course, with all the information he’s privy to as head of the council meetings. Taeil seems interested, so Sehun tells him everything. And happily, as he grew up in the capital, Taeil brings a novel point of view to Sehun. Just another little way Taeil’s come to aid him.

Sometimes, he still feels a bit sick at the way he left Taeil, but Taeil assures him that what’s done is done and that he need not worry over it any longer. 

“If you didn’t mean your apology, I doubt you’d help me with laundry every single fucking night, O Beautiful and Kind Favored.” 

Sehun checks his hip into Taeil’s as they stand at the wash basins, and Taeil shoves into Sehun with his shoulder. He’s quite strong for such a small man, and Sehun has to stumble to keep his footing. 

Taeil laughs, a big guffaw, and Sehun likes the sound, the way it resounds and skips over the water like a stone.  
  


♔

“Hyunwoo is much better liked,” Taeil says, and he folds a crease into the bedding the way they’ve been taught, sharp and perfect. “All the priests. Red, white, gold. It doesn’t matter. They all go to him. Tell him their problems. He nearly always finds a solution that’s pleasing to all.”

Sehun smiles, similarly pleased. He’ll have to tell Joongi what a fine job he did, finding someone like Hyunwoo to take the job. 

“And Hoseok?” Sehun asks, keeping his hands busy folding the wash rags. “Is the guard better or worse, would you say?” 

“Better,” Taeil nods. “Much better. They had such a...a strange violence about them. And perhaps that was why so much maltreatment ensued.” 

“When you’re being hurt,” Sehun says, putting the rag in half, then half again, “it makes you want to hurt others.” 

Taeil nods, and he sets a stack of the fresh sheets back in the basket. Then, he hesitates, hands folded over the folded sheets, before he turns back. 

“You’re good at this, you know,” Taeil says. “Ruling in his place. You’re good at it. You are, but I wonder...I wonder, are—are you happy?” 

Sehun steps backwards, the force of the question hitting him in the stomach as if Taeil reached out and struck him. 

“What?”

“Are you happy?” Taeil asks again. “You barely speak of him while we’re here, we only ever talk of...of me, the priests, the weather, books, anything and everything besides him.” 

“I-I didn’t know you wanted to hear of him.” 

“I just thought I _would_ hear of him.” 

Sehun raises his brows as he thinks of it. He holds Baekhyun and Taeil in separate realms within him. They are two spheres that have no need to interact. It is always the same problem, Sehun realizes, over and over. 

“I am happy,” Sehun says, but even to his own ears, it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself of it. 

Taeil nods, accepts it, and he moves back to the table to stack the baskets high with the rest of the laundry. 

“Alright then,” Taeil says, smiling at Sehun. “Let’s get these upstairs, shall we?”  
  


♔

Sehun is not one to let things go. It is not his way. Things build within him, and he lets them build until he cannot permit them to stay within him any longer. Until the poison needs to be expelled somehow or another.

He and Baekhyun share a meal, a simple stir-fried roast pork dish, and they each drink two glasses of the blush wine, their faces blushed as well after they’ve finished. 

“Might we talk?” Sehun asks. “When I get back?”

Baekhyun looks up at him with bright gold eyes, and for a moment Sehun finds himself falling into the thrall. 

“What is there to talk about?” 

Sehun’s head swirls, and he’s not sure he can put it all into words. Nothing has ever been answered, no puzzle pieces locked together. 

“Are you quite sure you must go?” Baekhyun asks, and he holds Sehun around the neck, pressing a kiss to his nose. “It’s been so long since we’ve spent the evening together _uninterrupted_.” 

His hands are devious, and they slip down Sehun’s body, hiding themselves underneath Sehun’s robe. He can feel the heat through Baekhyun’s hands. Whenever he gets a bit drunk, he’s more lax with his power, the light dripping through him easily. 

“You know I must.” 

Baekhyun grins, bites his bottom lip between his teeth. “And is there no way I can convince you to stay?” He falls to his knees, starts to play at the ties of Sehun’s robe. He hums as it falls open, begins to work at Sehun’s pants. 

“Baekhyun.” 

“Oh, say it again,” Baekhyun moans. “You know how I love when you say my name.” 

Sehun throws his head back and groans, pushing Baekhyun’s hands away. 

“I’ve got to go,” Sehun says. “But—but when I return.” 

“Who’s to say I won’t have spent already by then?” Baekhyun says, and he rises from his knees as Sehun starts to put himself back together again. “I’m impatient, my love.” 

“As if I wasn’t _painfully_ aware.” 

Baekhyun smiles, puts another kiss onto Sehun’s nose. “Back by the twelfth, then, lover. Or else I’ll find someone else.” 

It is a joke, they always are, but Sehun can’t shake it off of him, not even when he pulls himself down to the washroom where Taeil awaits him. 

“What’s the matter?” Taeil asks, and he pokes Sehun in the cheek when he gets close enough. “You look...miserable.” 

“It’s nothing.” Hurriedly, he gets to work, starts dumping baskets into the warmed waters, sprinkling the soap over top. He goes to the wall, deliberates over tools. “Do you think we’ll need the brushes?” 

“Sehun.” 

Sehun grabs the heavy-bristled brushes, two of the poles, and heads back. He puts a brush and a pole into Taeil’s arms, gets to stirring. 

The hand that clasps him on the shoulder is so soft, so gentle, that it startles Sehun even more than a hard hand would have. 

Taeil’s face is as kind as it always is, and Sehun can’t hold it back any longer. 

“He never talks to me,” he confesses. “He—I don’t know what I’ve become. I don’t know who I am anymore.” Tears well in his eyes, and he tries to blink them away, but instead, it only propels them down his face. “There are so many secrets between us. And I’ve asked, I’ve tried to ask, but...but how long must I wait? How long can a secret kept from a lover stay just that? How long before the secret becomes a lie?” 

Taeil moves him, pushes him over until they sit on the table. Sehun holds his head in his hands, confused. How did he let it come to this? It felt so—it didn’t always feel like this, did it? Weren’t the secrets pretty to him, once upon a time? It feels so distant now, so far away. He wants answers. He wants truth. All of it. _All_ of it. 

“I confess I do not know much of what happens between you,” Taeil says, “or what happens between lovers in general. But I do know this: you’ve got to ask again. And if he denies you again, if he continues to hide the truth from you, you break the fucking vows.” 

To renege on his vows. To break the oath he swore. He’d never truly thought of it before, only in the small ways that his god demanded of him. Because all of it, the sex and the company and the council, it’s all service. The kind Baekhyun wanted from him all along. That was never a reneged vow. That was never a broken oath. 

To leave...to leave the palace. To leave Baekhyun behind. _That_ is something entirely different.

“I don’t know that I can,” he says, and he wipes the pitiful tears away from his face. 

“It isn’t a matter of what you _can_ do,” Taeil says. “It is a matter of what you _must_ do.”  
  


♔

He returns to Baekhyun’s chambers under the thick black cover of night, and a candle still remains lit by Baekhyun’s side. When he hears the door close, however, Baekhyun waves his hand, makes the whole room go bright with candlelight.

“I’ve missed you, lark,” Baekhyun whispers. “Come to bed.” 

Sehun says nothing as he moves, strips himself down to nothing before he parts the sheets and slips between them. Immediately, Baekhyun moves into his space, kissing at Sehun’s chest, hands roaming. 

Sehun takes Baekhyun’s hand in his, squeezes it. Forbids it from moving. 

“We never speak of the desert,” Sehun says. 

The look of shock that Baekhyun wears, it’s like a mask of makeup, caked on his skin. 

“Well, what is there to speak of?” 

They trade shocks, and this one charges through Sehun’s blood. 

“W-We nearly died. I carried you. Too many milles to count.” 

“And you have my eternal thanks,” Baekhyun says, a hand on Sehun’s face. “Must we rehash such miseries? What more is there to say?” 

“ _What more is there_...are you _mad_?” 

“Mad with love for you, perhaps,” Baekhyun smiles, but Sehun grows in anger. 

“Be serious with me,” he begs. “Please.” 

Baekhyun huffs out a belabored breath, looks down, and takes Sehun’s hand in his. He strokes his thumb along it, smiles down at it. 

“Alright, larkling. I will be serious with you. What is it that you would like me to say of Yeol?” 

“Was it all just a test?” Sehun asks, and tears jump to his eyes as if commanded. 

“A test?” Baekhyun asks with a laugh. “A test for whom?” 

_For me_ , he wants to say, but he already knows it isn’t the case. It was never about Sehun. Slowly, he is starting to realize. He is a pawn. Small. Malleable. Shifting. His heart aches with the knowledge. 

“For Jongin.” 

Baekhyun tightens his hand around Sehun’s, looks up curiously. “You’re starting to see past the surfaces of people. Starting to see into their marrow.” 

“And does that frighten you?” 

Baekhyun smiles at him, daybreak in the middle of the night. “No. It doesn’t. There’s much I’ve wanted to tell you.” 

_Finally_ , he thinks. 

“Then, tell me,” Sehun says. “For I grow weary of guessing.” 

“Do you really want to know?” Baekhyun asks, and he leans forward, lips nearly against Sehun’s as he speaks. “Are you sure? It is possible you won’t like my answers.” 

“I still want to know.” 

“And if you decide to leave me after? If you decide you no longer want to belong to me?” 

It is a manipulation, of course, but Sehun knows it. Plays into it. He can do that now. Play into things if he wants. 

“I’ve pledged myself to you,” Sehun says. “This life, the next, and the one after that. There is nothing you could say to change it.” 

“Pledges are nothing but words. And words, they too are nothing. It matters not how many zeroes you add together. You still won’t have anything to your name.”

“Are you so sure that I’ll hate what you tell me?” 

“Anyone would,” Baekhyun says. 

“Tell me it anyway,” Sehun says. 

Baekhyun breathes deeply, and he laces his fingers with Sehun’s. Stares at the paintings on the ceiling instead, like he’s trying to fall through them with just his eyes. 

“I knew it was too dangerous to take you through the mountains,” Baekhyun says. “But I knew I couldn’t take you to Varrencarres either.” 

“Why? What was—” 

“Too many memories remained there, untouched by anyone.” He shrinks himself low. “Letters. And scrolls. Things I wrote by my own hand.” 

“I never even got a chance to read them.” 

“I did not plan on us ever arriving,” Baekhyun smiles. 

“Because you were—” 

“Because I wanted Jongin to find us. I wanted to be brought to Gochidana. And the only way...the only way I would ever make it through the magic would be with someone like you. Someone to mask me. The glamor...of course, they still saw what I wanted them to see, same as you, but it didn’t matter. They would still look right through me. They knew exactly who I was. They’re no fools. But with you, a pure-hearted boy only trying to make a pilgrimage...how could they refuse me?” 

It settles uncomfortably in Sehun’s stomach. He was a human shield. He was protection. A piece of collateral. _If not for me_ , he imagines Baekhyun’s glamor pleading, _then for him._

Sehun’s eyes water. “Were you ever even...were we ever in danger at all? Was it just a game?” 

“The danger was real,” Baekhyun says. “I...I knew he would never come unless the danger was real.” 

“Why did you want to get there so badly?” Sehun asks. “What was it that you desired?” 

Baekhyun suddenly pulls his hand back, leaves Sehun reaching out to him. A smile stripes across his face, sad and lonely, and it distantly reminds Sehun of Yixing, of Chanyeol when he speaks of Jongin. That same sad smile. 

“I suppose I desired what we all desire.” 

“And what is that?” 

“Redemption.” 

Sehun strokes a hand along Baekhyun’s face, watches as his eyes slide shut. “What have you done? What could possibly weigh on your heart with this much magnitude?” 

“They all picked sides,” Baekhyun says. “We were all friends, once upon a time, but then, when everything changed, you had to decide. Take up arms against someone you once considered your brother.” 

“My love.” 

“I waited,” he says, knitting his fingers together. “Waited until it was clear who would win. I ignored Jongin’s letters. Their fight was as petty as their love was, and I thought that perhaps it would never happen at all. And then we heard the songs of desolation. The warfare. The way the bodies burnt.” 

“You didn’t know that he wasn’t killed?” Sehun asks. 

“There was no way of knowing. Of course, you heard the rumors. He could go anywhere with the snap of his fingers. He could jump and never stop jumping. But no one ever saw him again. Everyone… _everyone_ said he was dead. I was fooled. But still, we searched the world over and over. Could find him nowhere. I knew, deep down, that he rested within the forest.” 

Sehun swallows, thinks of all the ways the plan could have gone sour. What if Jongin was dead? Would Baekhyun have risked Sehun's life for nothing? Killed him for nothing? Sehun was so in love, deep in the heart of the desert lands. Was Baekhyun? Did Baekhyun even care? 

“Why didn’t he...why didn’t he expel you once he knew who you were? Why did they let you stay in Gochidana?” 

Baekhyun smiles. “He knew you wouldn’t let me leave. You would have demanded to go with me.” 

Sehun frowns at the truth. 

“Why was it so important to you? That you were willing to risk your life?” 

Baekhyun sighs. “Life means nothing if you have no one. And for quite some time, I had no one. I thought I was clever. Thought I knew what I wanted. To have it all. Control it all. But after I had it all, controlled it all...I realized it all meant nothing if I had no one.” 

“But Chanyeol? Wouldn’t he have...I mean, did he lie to you? To keep it all a secret?” 

“Chanyeol,” Baekhyun scoffs. “Of course he’s a liar.” 

“I thought you said he was bad at lying,” Sehun says. 

“He is,” Baekhyun says, “when he’s lying about anything besides Jongin.” 

There are moments of silence between them, and Sehun pulls them both flat on the bed, huddles Baekhyun in his arms. How many years did Baekhyun live with this? Live with the mistakes he made? He turned his back on his friends, let them sort the squabble out amongst themselves to a seemingly horrific end. And now, as Sehun thinks of it, what must it have felt like, to know that he could have potentially saved the lives of hundreds, thousands, one of his closest friends. 

“I’m sorry,” Sehun whispers. 

“What could you possibly be sorry for?” 

“For all those years you didn’t know.” 

“It was penance,” Baekhyun says. “Just part of my punishment for what I’ve done.” 

More quiet, and Sehun runs his fingers through Baekhyun’s hair, feels him stretch in Sehun’s arms. Years slough off like dead skin. How old is he? Sehun’s never asked. 

“Did you manage to apologize to him?” Sehun whispers. “To both of them, I suppose?” 

“I did,” Baekhyun whispers back. 

“And did they accept?” 

“They did. And I am grateful for it.” 

Sehun kisses the top of Baekhyun’s head, and the answers bring more questions. 

“All those years,” Baekhyun whispers, voice so soft Sehun can only just hear it. “All those years I drowned myself in wine, in lust, and I couldn’t feel a thing. People touched me, prayed to me, and it meant nothing. Now, you’ve come into my life, and I cannot stop myself from feeling, feeling everything and feeling it deeply. Please...don't leave me. Sehun, I...I couldn't bear it. Not now. Not when I love you so.” 

It is sweet to hear such things from Baekhyun, but he himself said that words are nothing. Action is the only thing that matters. They lie in each other’s arms, so close, and yet, so far away. 

“Never keep the truth from me again,” he says. “Please.” 

“I won’t,” Baekhyun says. “I promise.” 

Promises, vows, and pledges. If he doesn’t have promises, vows, and pledges to cloak himself with, then truly, what remains?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! 
> 
> i hope you've started your week off nicely! i have been fighting some stomach problems, but pilgrimage goes up whether i live or die!!!!! (im just kidding its not that serious) (im sorry) 
> 
> some answers this chapter! thats nice, isnt it! a nice little change of pace! i do wonder what questions you still have. im hoping i have them answered lmao. i finished 3.1 a couple days ago, working through 3.2 as we speak. i dont know what the final wc will be, but im not going to stretch things longer than i think i need to. i dont want to make you read a bunch of unnecessary things just for my own vanity asldjkjlgj anyway.........im bad at writing. thanks for reading despite that fact!!
> 
> please have a wonderful day/night/week/life! and leave me a comment if you enjoyed!!! im starved for attention ♡
> 
> holy shit, book two's almost over. get ur towels ready!!!! MAY 21!!!! im comin for u!!! 
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfsupremacist) | [my curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/wolfsupremacist)


	6. book two, chapter three

The sun shines through the stained glass window. The colors stream, rays of pigmented, blushing light. Reds, blues, golds, greens. It is of singular beauty. The pointed sun is the vessel through which all the color seeps in, and isn’t that a pretty thought? Baekhyun, a vessel of color. Of sound. Of light. 

As the morning breaks, Baekhyun’s head rests on his chest. He strokes spread fingers through the white-gold hair, strands soft in his hand. 

“Do you know what today is?” Baekhyun asks, and Sehun can hear the sleep in his voice. 

Sehun searches his memory. It is the Triad, of course, but could the answer be so simple? 

“I don’t know,” Sehun answers. “What is today?” 

“One year ago today,” Baekhyun says, and he pushes himself up, flips so that he’s staring into Sehun’s eyes. Gold, gold, gold. “We began your pilgrimage. Began it together.”

One year. It seems incredible, almost impossible that so much has happened in such a short amount of time. When he turns, looks back over his shoulder, he can barely see who he was before. Meek. Feeble. He has been to the summit of power, has seen it all now. And now...now he is more sure of himself than ever. He is what he was always meant to be. Strong. Capable. A little bit stubborn. 

They too are stronger than ever. The secrets are far behind them. And Sehun trusts in Baekhyun. Trusts him with his life. They are on the same page of the same book, saved in the same royal library, and the words of them...they are the same sentence. 

Baekhyun looks up at him, a little smile on his lips. Sehun leans down to kiss it, Baekhyun’s jaw in his hand. 

“Thank you for finding me,” Sehun says. 

“It was not me who found you,” Baekhyun tells him. “It was you who found me.” 

Sehun sighs, the joy streaming through him like so much pretty red, blue, gold, green light through the stained glass window, and Baekhyun settles back down, his halo of hair splaying onto Sehun’s chest once more. 

_I will find you every day_ , he thinks, petting through Baekhyun’s locks. _Despite it all, despite lies and deceptions and godly rage of pure gold light, I will find you every day if you’ll let me._  
  


♔

Perhaps the Triad seems greater simply from his vantage, but he stands alongside Baekhyun upon the dais where the throne rests. Baekhyun wears his crown, and it is only worn for such special occasions as it’s so complex, so rich.

It comes in two pieces, the first sitting at the back of his head. A hundred rays of gold beam from the crown, pointed like a halo of light, a sun shining behind him. A single circular ring of gold encompasses it all, and the band that sits along his head is embedded with rubies the size of strawberries, huge, obscenely alluring, each facet more luxurious than the last. 

The seconds piece is a one that rests along Baekhyun’s forehead, a simple band of gold, engraved with the same arches and whorls that Sehun’s seen elsewhere in the palace. From the band, four chains of gold hang down, two on either side, and rubies are threaded throughout the chain, ending in one of the larger jewels. It is a magnificent work of art, its beauty truly beyond compare. 

Now, Sehun has a crown of his own, finished only the night prior. It still feels warm to him, a memory of its cast, but perhaps it is only his imagination. 

Sehun’s crown is much simpler, just a single band of gold to sit upon his forehead to match Baekhyun’s, and the chains of gold that hang are shorter, threaded with only one ruby each. It is still the most expensive thing he’s ever worn, and even touching something so lavish makes his teeth ache. But he stands straighter, tries to bear the weight with poise. 

He is the one who hands the ropes to Baekhyun, their hands brushing as they go through hundreds and hundreds of men. Sehun recognizes faces now, tries to know each of them, and where once they looked at him with disdain, now they smile at him as they pass. It’s hard to know if such a thing is genuine, if they’re merely afraid of him, but he likes to think that they know him now, that they know that his heart is pure. 

When Taeil approaches the throne, Baekhyun smiles at him as he pulls his three red ropes from around his neck. With its absence, Taeil looks up at Sehun as he places the single gold rope into Baekhyun’s hands. And when Baekhyun drapes it around him, the gold hung round him, Taeil rises with a bright white grin. A quick promotion. 

There are still hundreds more to go through, dozens upon dozens of priests, but the Triad goes smoothly, goes well. Everything falling directly into place.  
  


♔

“My _word_ ,” Baekhyun gripes, pulling the back piece of the crown off his head and placing it back onto the rest. “I’ll never get used to wearing that.”

Sehun smiles at him, watches him tug the band of gold from his head as well, the chains of gold trailing along his shoulders before he puts it on the rest with the other piece. Sehun’s got a place for his own crown now, and he takes it from his head, the weight not nearly as bothersome as Baekhyun's, and he puts it where it belongs. 

“Do you have much work to do?” Baekhyun asks, going to Sehun and putting his hands in the collar of Sehun’s robe. “Can we go for a swim?” 

“The festival months are approaching,” Sehun says. “There is so much to do.” 

“And you’ve got so many people to order around.” 

“Yes,” Sehun smiles. “Many, many people.” 

Baekhyun hums, hugging Sehun close. “I hope this month will pass quickly. I cannot wait to show you all the glory of the feast months.” 

“You did,” Sehun says. “Once upon a time.” 

Baekhyun withdraws with a laugh. “ _That_? We hid away in a room for a month and didn’t come out unless it was to eat.” 

“Well, yes. What’s more to see?” 

“Oh, my little larkling,” Baekhyun says, and he lays his head upon Sehun’s chest, and Sehun is certain that Baekhyun can feel his beating heart. “There is so, so much to see. I cannot wait to show you it all. Truly, this time.” 

He cannot imagine it, even after all this time. What could be more magnificent than the way Baekhyun calls his name? What could be more magical, more gorgeous than the way Baekhyun’s eyes look in the sun? Gold and more gold alongside it.  
  


♔

The first sennight of the fifth month, Sehun feels like he hardly makes it out of council meetings. And for the first time since Sehun’s taken his place, Baekhyun appears at a meeting.

“You don’t know the scale,” Baekhyun sneers, “and you’re so prudent. But this is a celebration. It’s meant to be gaudy and lavish.” 

Sehun frowns. “I’m not so prudent. I can imagine the scale.” 

“During the Sixth, each street corner has a fountain of ice, and wine flows through them all,” Baekhyun says. 

“Each _corner_?” Sehun asks. “What about the children? And couldn’t you simply—” 

“See!” Baekhyun shouts, gesturing to Sehun while addressing the rest in the room. “He’s got no concept of profligacy!” 

“You say it as if it’s a bad thing,” Sehun argues. 

Baekhyun reaches out, takes Sehun’s cheek in his hand. “In normal circumstances, it is an extremely good thing. But—” 

Sehun rolls his eyes. “But during the feast months…” 

“Precisely,” Baekhyun says happily. “Extravagance is the purpose.” 

Sehun watches in amazement as Baekhyun haphazardly lays plans for the sixth, seventh, eighth months, scrolls spread out with intricate plans. It is the most excited Sehun’s ever seen Baekhyun about anything besides...well, _himself_.  
  


♔

He is Baekhyun’s second in command when it comes to the festivals, and he follows Baekhyun through the palace as the preparations begin. There is a list, of course there is a list, and Sehun keeps track of all of their schedules for the day.

“High noon, you’re due to speak to the chicken farmers,” Sehun says. “From…” 

“From Nancledra,” Baekhyun says. “Yes, yes, I know.” 

Baekhyun _does_ know, knows everything there is to know about Bichwood and the people who live there. He demonstrates his knowledge not with pride, but with a ridiculous ease, rattling off information as if it’s second nature. And Sehun supposes that it is: Baekhyun’s been king for longer than they’ve been alive. He knows the way things work. 

A point of pride for Baekhyun, it seems, is that all the festivities stem directly from the people of the kingdom, so the palace foots bills, patronizes them all. Over the last sennight, they’ve met with fruit and vegetable farmers, artists and merchants, musicians, all manner of people. And they all look at Baekhyun as if he’s giving them a great gift. 

“How _do_ they raise the chickens?” Sehun wonders. "In the desert, I mean." 

“They’re white.” 

“What’s the color got to do with them?” he asks, but Baekhyun rolls his eyes. 

“There’s plenty of shelter for them, and they paint the coops as well.” 

“They what?” 

“They paint the coops,” Baekhyun says. “Obviously.” 

“As if such a thing can be _obvious_. I’ve never been a chicken farmer.” 

“Which is why you’ll leave the discussions of chickens to me,” Baekhyun says, and he pats Sehun on the chest. “They’ll meet us in the menagerie, correct?” 

“That’s correct,” Sehun says. 

Baekhyun grabs Sehun by the arm, holds him close. 

“Come, then. We’ll show them the birds before we haggle with them.” 

There is rarely haggling, of course. The people name a price, and Baekhyun doubles it. He seems most generous during this time of the year, but there is something about him now—he seems happier than ever. And such a happiness is infectious. Sehun feels light as they walk, light in his feet and in his heart. Light enough that he might float away with the barest of breezes.  
  


♔

Priests of red, gold, and white pass them by as they stand in the hall, and still, there is much to do, much to be done. They flit around them, all of them in different directions, but with abandon. Hyunwoo directs it all, and they’ve been incredibly lucky to have him over the past fortnight. The delegation of labor is smooth, and so too is the labor itself. They move knowing exactly what they’re to do.

Sehun feels a bit at a disadvantage through it all: most of them have done it before, and even the Reds who haven’t get to be ordered around by someone, told what to do and when to do it. He misses those days, sometimes. Not often, but sometimes. 

“How many urns did you say?” Sehun asks the merchant. 

“Five hundred red, five hundred white,” he says. “Your priests are moving them into the cellars as we speak, until it’s time, of course. The rosado wines do better in the cold.” 

“Of course,” Sehun smiles, and he gestures to the Gold moving the large bag, thrown over his shoulder like it weighs nothing. Sehun knows, of course, just how much it does actually weight. “Kiwoo will move your gold to the caravan.” 

The man bows deeply to Sehun, which is something that he still hasn’t gotten used to, and as the man leaves, a spring in his step, Sehun looks around the hall. The decorations have begun to take shape. Long drapes of colorful fabrics are strung from column to column, the ceiling taking on a billowing look. He imagines the place filled with flowers, with songs and dancing and laughter, and he smiles to himself. Joy, impossible joy pouring down like a rainfall. 

“Why are you so happy?” 

He turns, sees Baekhyun. His cheeks are red, eyes bright, and he is so golden that Sehun cannot help himself. He drops his papers to the floor, takes Baekhyun’s face in his hands, and he kisses him, so eager for just a drop of him.  
  


♔

Preparations take most of their day, so when they retire to their chambers for the evening, they have little energy to do much else. Mostly, they bathe quietly, lying in the embrace of the other. It is comforting enough, the way they share warmth and almost everything else as well.

Sehun presses light kisses to Baekhyun’s chest, delighted to hear the way he sighs out, pleased. He smiles, wraps an arm around Baekhyun’s middle, and he huddles close. 

“I’ve never seen you so tired,” Sehun says, and he draws the pointed sun on Baekhyun’s stomach, his belly button marking the center. 

“I’m sure you have,” Baekhyun comments, and he pets through Sehun’s hair. It earns him a happy sound, a kiss to the pectoral. “Once or twice.” 

“Don’t be filthy.” 

“I simply cannot help it, little lark. It’s in my nature.” 

Sehun laughs, and he squeezes his arm around Baekhyun, buries his face in Baekhyun when Baekhyun’s arm around him squeezes back. 

They fall quiet, and it’s just as well; Sehun is exhausted. They spend most of the day on their feet, walking from meeting to meeting, arranging it all, making sure that it all goes perfectly when the time comes. Their work will pay off, of course: three long months of nothing but celebration. 

“I must confess,” Sehun says sleepily, “I’m very excited for the festival.” 

“Are you truly, larkling?” Baekhyun asks. 

“Yes,” and he presses another kiss to Baekhyun’s chest. “I’ve never seen you work so hard for anything.” 

Baekhyun huffs out a laugh. “I’ve never had a reason to. But now, now it’s to celebrate you, so I’ve got to make it the best festival this world has ever seen.” 

It gives Sehun pause, enough pause to place his hand on Baekhyun’s stomach, push himself up until he’s leaning over Baekhyun. 

“Do you mean it? It’s all for me?” Sehun asks. 

Baekhyun smiles sleepily at him. _You fool_ , his gaze says. _You beautiful fool._

“Of course it’s for you,” Baekhyun says, and he cocks a brow, dragging Sehun into a lazy kiss, one that could stretch on forever if he let it. But he pulls back, brushing his fingers against Sehun’s lips softly. “Whoever else would it be for?”  
  


♔

On the eve of the the beginning of the long festival months, the priests run around wildly, trying to tend to last minute preparations. There is an edge of excitement throughout them all, because while they still work during the festivals, much of the work is light, helping pilgrims to their rooms, helping to run the schedules of services, directing the pilgrims during their audiences, and they participate in the celebrations just as much as the common folk do.

Everyone moves, practiced and sure, and Sehun observes them, flying around like bees throughout the great hall, throughout the throne room, through the temples and the many, many rooms for the guests. 

Sehun watches, giddy himself. He knows what the capital is like during festivals, but this year, it is different. It is grander than before. It’s the celebration to end them all. And he is at the direct center of it, standing right next to the sun himself. 

He finds Baekhyun later in the evening in the chambers, and when he walks into the room, he is overwhelmed with the smell of fruit, cinnamon, and sugar. Baekhyun is sitting there on the lounge, shirtless, a thin pair of braies. It may only be Sehun’s eyes, the thrill of love running through him, but Baekhyun seems to glitter, a fine sheen of gold along his skin. His hair looks blonder than usual, warmer, and it makes Sehun want to thread his fingers through it. 

“Lover,” Baekhyun calls. 

“My king,” Sehun answers. 

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. 

“I had someone fetch dessert.” And he walks over, pulls the ties of Sehun’s robes until it falls. “Something sweet for you.” 

Sehun steps out of his sandals, pulls himself free from his chemise. He pads over to the table, spies the tartlet, strewn high with raspberries and blueberries, the custard gone purple and red beneath the macerated fruit. There is a whipped cream atop it, and Sehun sticks his finger into it, lifts it to his lips. It is sweet when he licks his finger clean. 

“Thank you,” Sehun says. 

Baekhyun’s hands come to his waist, and he rests his forehead along Sehun’s back. 

“Thank _you_ ,” Baekhyun says. 

“For what?” 

“For being with me. Through it all. For staying.” 

“Where else would I be, Baekhyun? Where else would I go?” 

Baekhyun’s hands come to his shoulders, and he presses his thumbs into the muscle, enough to drive some of the underlying tension from him just in one push. 

“Where would you go?” Baekhyun says. “I don’t know. But you could go anywhere. Do anything you wanted. And yet, here you are.” 

Sehun turns, takes Baekhyun in his arms the same he takes issue with the premise. Could he go anywhere? Could he do anything? He isn’t sure, but there is one thing he is sure of. 

“Here I am.” 

“And will you stay?” Baekhyun asks, the words swallowed to Sehun’s skin. “Will you stay here with me a little longer?” 

In that moment, Sehun realizes that a little longer is not enough. For whatever they've gone through, for whatever they've done...he will never be tired of it. He will never have his fill of Baekhyun. 

“Forever,” Sehun says. “I’ll always be with you.” 

Baekhyun sighs, and the warmth of it spreads across Sehun’s chest. “Promise.” 

“I promise.” 

Baekhyun kisses Sehun’s pectoral, licks at his nipple before sucking it between his lips gently. Sehun’s head falls back on it’s own accord, and he moans to the painted ceilings. There’s been no time for such things, no time to spend it wasted in their own pleasure. But now...when the festivals come with the rise of the morning sun...they have time for so much. 

He withdraws, smiles at Sehun with shining red lips. 

“Eat,” Baekhyun orders.

Sehun takes him in a fervent, heady kiss that burns white hot like holy flames. 

“I intend to.”  
  


♔

Baekhyun wakes him gently, and Sehun stretches, a cat in the sun.

“I’ve a present for you, larkling,” Baekhyun says, and he trails fingers along Sehun’s naked chest. 

“Is it your mouth around my cock?” Sehun asks with a sigh and a smile. 

Baekhyun furrows his brow. “As if there’s time for such nonsense on such an important day.” He sits up in bed, waves his arms. 

The doors open, and then, a beautiful set of white silk robes floats through, the train of them dragging along the floor. The embroidery, the line of pointed suns along the hems, glittering golden thread shining in the light of the dawn. The sleeves are long, and they’re inlaid with red and gold. The ties around the waist are thick and golden, and when the robes spin in the air, they’re tied in the elaborate rose knot that Sehun remembers tying each and every morning not so long ago. 

He sits up in bed as the robes float gently towards them, Baekhyun’s fingers waving as he bids them forward. The silk drapes over his bare skin, hovering in the air, and he brushes the fabric between his fingers. It is soft, especially soft. Finery. For him. 

“They...they look like your robes,” Sehun says, in awe as he turns to face Baekhyun, the silk still clutched in his hand. “Your formal robes.” 

“The train isn’t as long as mine,” Baekhyun notes. “But I figured you wouldn’t want a long train.” 

Sehun looks at the length. Perfect. Every inch of it, in fact, is perfect. In a confusing moment, his heart clenches in his chest, and he wonders how he got to this moment. Draped in rich silks. Indulging his every whim. 

“I didn’t need this,” Sehun says, and he brushes over the embroidery. “My lord, I—” 

Baekhyun holds his hand across Sehun’s mouth, quiets him quickly. 

“Don’t,” Baekhyun says. “Don’t fall back to this. You’ve done much good here. You’ve worked so hard. And now, it is time to celebrate.” 

Sehun shuts his eyes, and when he opens them again, Baekhyun has withdrawn his hand. But Sehun takes it, grabs Baekhyun’s hand before it goes too far, and he brings it back to his mouth. He curls it up, holds Baekhyun by the fingers and kisses the back of it. 

“I’m sorry,” Sehun says, pressing another kiss to the back of Baekhyun’s hand. “Trying to deny such a beautiful gift.” 

“You need not apologize.” And with that, he holds Sehun’s face between two tender hands, kissing him softly. “You need only accept.” 

Sehun shuts his eyes once more, smiles as Baekhyun kisses him again. 

“I accept.”  
  


♔

For the first time, they welcome others into their chambers.

The attendants, a Gold and a White, dump a special golden oil into the bath, and Sehun watches as the oil spreads, glittering with light before it dissolves into the water, liquid gold. When they’re stripped, the thin robe pulled from them, they step into the water, slipping beneath until they’re submerged, reborn upon their exit. 

They’re carefully washed and cleaned, and it feels like some sort of sacrament. It’s by far the most serious bath they’ve ever shared, and a nervous energy flits through Sehun’s body. As if on command, though, Baekhyun reaches over, laces his fingers through Sehun’s. 

Baekhyun dries them instantly after they’ve finished, and his skin sparkles the same it did the day before. It must be some anointment, and now, Sehun’s been anointed too. 

The dressing is mindful, the priests working gently with the soft fabrics and ties, and Sehun breathes in and out slowly as his own rose knot is fastened at his back. One to match his king. 

They’re painted with makeup, far more convoluted than he’s ever seen before. There is a lotion spread on them, prepping the skin. There is a powdered color, red and yellow, and Sehun’s made to close his eyes as it’s applied to his eyelids. There is something wet daubed onto his eyelids and the high points of his cheeks, but he’s instructed to keep his eyes closed, so he listens to the orders. There is liner drawn at their eyes, but it is a smoky kohl, smudged after it’s been laid. When he opens his eyes, looking into the mirror, he draws breath sharply. His eyes are—

“Beautiful,” Baekhyun comments, and when Sehun looks over, Baekhyun has been painted just the same. A sunrise. 

Thin lines of gold have been painted along his cheekbones, angled and sharp, and they reflect light. There is a blooming blush of coral red on his cheeks. His own face, when he looks back into the mirror, is less complexly done, spots of glitter and gold at his cheekbones, above his lips. Baekhyun looks like a god, and he...he looks like the Favored.  
  


♔

The ceremony to open the festival...perhaps it is dreadfully boring to repeat himself so many times and in the same words, but he’s never seen anything like it. The music is already playing when the doors to the palace open, trumpets and reeded instruments, and they walk down the stairs hand in hand. The lines of Reds, Golds, and Whites all smile at them as they move down from the landing of the palace to the bottom, there, where all of the people have gathered.

Everyone looks their very best, dressed in their finest clothes and smiling brightly as the pair of them walk to the center of the capital, next to the giant fountain that sprays water high into the air. Sehun tries to keep the look of amazement off his face, but it all looks so beautiful. Archways of greenery, dotted with the white and yellow rose blooms, loop down the streets. Colorful pennants are strung from window to window. The children in the crowd wave flags, and the ladies fan themselves with paper fans in the growing heat, and all are painted with the pointed sun. 

The fountains of ice are set on every corner, but they pour nothing yet, and Sehun holds Baekhyun’s hand timidly as they stand under the high noon sun. Baekhyun’s back is so straight, and he stands tall under the weight of his crown. Sehun tries to match it, stand straighter under his own. 

It is sudden, the way the crowds and music come to silence, but they must know that it is finally time. Sehun’s stomach goes tense when Baekhyun raises his free hand into the sky, and from his fingertips, a beam of light fills the clouds, spreads like a tidal wave. The boom of light is powerfully bright, even at the brightest point of day, and the crowds cheer as the sparks of light fall to the ground like stars fallen loose from the midnight sky. 

“And so,” Baekhyun says, and his voice magically booms just as the light did, “the festivals have begun.” 

The crowd erupts, their levels of fervor reaching ever-higher, and when Baekhyun lowers his hand, the fountains too erupt, coursing red and white. 

There is a soft moment for them as everyone in the crowd turns, embraces their neighbors, friends, and family. And Baekhyun takes Sehun into his arms, kisses him soundly under the bright sun, under the illumination of his own creation.  
  


♔

The First Feast is quite obviously titled, but that does not impact it’s grandeur at all. Sehun has had many of the world’s delicacies at this point in his life, has feasted on the best the world has to offer, but nothing compares. Simply _nothing_ compares.

Sehun sits at the high table, right at Baekhyun’s side. 

“Where you belong,” Baekhyun says, and he takes Sehun’s hand in his as the meals arrive by magic. 

The platters do not seem to cease, the sprawling tables in the huge hall covered with food of all sorts, something for every taste. Fresh baked bread with whipped butter, whole roasted chickens and fish, turkey legs that have gone caramel brown as they were barbecued. There are soups, strawberry and peach soups served chilled, vegetable and clam soups served hot. There are beef short ribs braised in tomatoes and wine, there are fried potatoes and pot pies lovingly laid with bacon lattices. There are plates of assorted cheeses and meats, small sweet pickles and sugared almonds. 

There are countless desserts. Deep-fried doughnuts dotted with dried grapes, covered in powdered sugar. Coconut cake with the taste of orange blossom. Milk tarts, fruit tarts. There are cookies, some thin and crisp, some pillowy and soft. Chocolate, vanilla, raspberry. Cinnamon and sugar. There’s paper thin filo stuffed with nuts, drenched with honey. There are sweet dumplings filled with red beans and sesame. There are banana breads, maple taffies, apple pies with crumb tops, chocolate silk pies piled high with cream, the shavings of chocolate spread liberally overtop. 

He serves himself small portions of everything, wants desperately to try it all. He steals some off Baekhyun’s plate, only to get his hand playfully slapped as they eat. Sehun’s never seen him with so much glee, so much playful spirit around others. Now, his true nature shines through everything. He becomes himself during the festivals. 

There is wine of all colors, a veritable rainbow. There is the typical red, blush, and white, but there are some cities in the Bichwood that make a special pomegranate wine that somehow shimmers, darker than blood, sweeter than sugar. They make apricot wine too, light orangey-yellow in color, and the little town of Caerlake, they make a liquor that Sehun’s never tried before. 

Baekhyun serves him a small shot of it, and Sehun narrows his eyes. 

“Why so little?” he wonders. 

“Trust me,” Baekhyun says, and he nudges it closer to him. “You’ll want to try before you ask for more.” Sehun takes the small glass, studies it, sniffing, but it smells like nothing. “Best to do it all at once,” Baekhyun advises. 

So Sehun knocks it back, shocked at how little it tastes of...anything. There is something woody, something earthy. Maybe a bit of spice. 

“It’s made from the agave,” Baekhyun says. “Aged in barrels. Good, isn’t it?” 

“Yes,” Sehun says, and he gestures to the glass. “Another?” 

“Oh, you must _pace_ yourself, little lark,” Baekhyun says, and he takes Sehun’s hand, kisses his fingers. “We’ve got so much left to do.” 

It’s his imagination, of course, but he feels as if the alcohol is immediate in the way it simmers through him, sets him ablaze from the inside out.  
  


♔

They ate until they were full, stuffed until they simply couldn’t eat another bite. They drank happily, cheerfully, and when they walked into the night air, the merry-making continued, bolstered by the people singing and dancing in the streets.

At night, the activities are less structured, and the people provide their own music, folksy and charming. Sehun laughs as he watches kids run through the square, up far past their bedtimes. But, he supposes, that’s what the festival months are for. A bit of rule-breaking. 

Baekhyun stands at the same place he did in the morning, just by the fountain. The music stops when he comes to a stop, raising his hand, and same as the morning, they all fall silent. Baekhyun’s makeup has smudged a bit, the dew of the Bichwood climate getting to it, but he looks so very _happy_ , and Sehun squeezes his hand around Baekhyun’s, so foolishly in love that it clouds his vision. 

From Baekhyun’s fingers, the most beautiful sparks spring to the sky, like fawns jumping through meadows, and the colors burst in huge explosions, the kind that make the night seem like day. The fireworks are massive, rupturing the skies in reds and blues, and the stars start to fall around them, the rain of sparks overhead dying as they come to the earth. 

The people cheer, gasp, and Baekhyun continues to work, drawing figures through the sky with his light much to the amusement and delight of his people. 

It is not so much later that the show culminates, and he takes his hand from Sehun’s, uses both hands to shoot light into the night, piercing it all, shivering, shattering, cracking through the dark as the light swells and swells, the booms of the bursts reaching their climax, making Sehun reach up to cover his ears as he smiles up at the sky. 

Finally, Baekhyun heaves out a breath, lets his arms fall to his sides, seemingly exhausted. 

Everyone screams for him, claps for him, and he bows before taking Sehun by the hand once more, pulling him off to the palace. 

“That was...that was _incredible_ ,” Sehun says, once they are surrounded by quiet once more. 

“It was nothing,” Baekhyun says. “You only think it’s impressive because you’ve never seen it before.” 

“They all seem to still find it quite impressive, and I’m sure they’ve seen it a time or two.” 

Baekhyun turns, and he puts Sehun against the wall, hands tight on Sehun’s shoulders. There are people milling about, priests and...and pilgrims, but it doesn’t stop Baekhyun from kissing him, from making Sehun melt in his touch. When it finally ends, the place is empty around them, all the little birds flown home, or at the very least, far from where they stand. 

“Shut up,” Baekhyun says. “Shut up, and take me to bed.” 

“Yes,” Sehun says. “Anything for you.” 

Baekhyun pulls him away from the wall, and their pace is quick, so quick that eventually they break into a run. It feels stupid, feels so foolish, but he can’t stop running. Hand in hand with the the person he loves, carried by gales of wind so strong that he doesn’t even feel like his feet are hitting the ground. 

When they get to the chamber door, Baekhyun throws his hand to the side, throws them open with so much force the handle puts a crack in the wall. It shocks a gasp from Sehun’s chest, a loud, high-pitched thing, and Baekhyun grins at him, grabbing him by the collar of his robe before pulling him inside. 

They giggle, the weight lifted from them as the pull their clothes to the floor, let it all fall away as they stand before each other, humble and kind. 

They fall to the bed, writhing against one another, too desperate to prepare for anything greater. It’s a slick slide, with sweat and oil, and Sehun gasps as Baekhyun rubs and kneads at his chest as he moves. It’s kittenish, sweet, and Sehun arches his back, rolls his hips. He’s eager, he’s wanton, he’s everything, doubled and tripled, stacked up and spread out. 

“Touch me,” Baekhyun whispers. “Touch me, please.” 

Sehun reaches between them, strokes him with a wet fist, and when Baekhyun throws his head back, Sehun takes the opportunity to stick a hot red mark at his throat, licking and sucking until Baekhyun starts to shake within his grasp. 

“I love you,” Baekhyun cries, and when Sehun looks, tears are slipping down his face. “I love you so much.” 

Sehun takes him by the back of the neck, kisses him hard. He tastes the salt when they slip down to their lips, and he grinds against him. Makes him pull away to gasp for breath. 

“I love you,” Sehun says, gritting his teeth. “I love you more than you’ll ever know.” 

They paint each other with love, paint with tips of the fingers and tips of their tongues, and when it is all over, they are wrapped in each other’s heartstrings, tied up in knots, so tangled they may never come apart.  
  


♔

He thought perhaps the festivities would calm after the first day, but that was a silly thought for him to have. He knew the plans. He knew what Baekhyun had up his sleeves. Still, it is a wonder to see the way the party rages on, the festivities only building.

They walk along the common-folk, their fingers laced through the other’s, and they greet as many as they can. Sehun listens to many stories, many songs, and he buys little trinkets that some tradespeople are selling. Bracelets, necklaces, pendants and the like. He has more money than he knows what to do with, seemingly endless, and he gives away as much as he can. 

There is plenty of food inside the palace, and the people are welcome to it, but still, vendors peddle their goods along the streetsides. Fried dough with curry inside. Thin pancakes served both sweet and savory, rolled around whipped cream and berries or around bacon, eggs, and mushrooms. Buttered corn served on a stick, coated in crumbling white cheese and smelling like pepper. Dumplings with fiery-hot pork and cabbage, crisp along the bottoms. Sehun gets a bit of it all to try, excitedly shows it all to Baekhyun who kisses him sweetly on the cheek before taking a bite. 

“What are you laughing at me for?” Sehun asks, taking a bite out of a dumpling and watching the steam rise into the air. “Hot.” 

“You’re just very sweet,” Baekhyun says, and he holds Sehun close. “Very sweet indeed.”  
  


♔

Their days vacillate between raucous and the ensuing calm of night, and there are so, so many parties to attend. Sehun tries to pace himself, but Baekhyun can drink like no other. Sehun mostly sits, watches him entertain the various townsfolk who come to his side. Sehun tips back cupful after cupful, only figures out that he’s drunk again when his amused smiles trail into fits of giggles, body tired. Mind tired. They’ve been stretching themselves thin for days, a sennight.

They go to the salons in the evening, when the festivities should be winding down for the evening, but wine and liquor continues to flow, casks of beer from Goldleaf tapped and flowing, frothing into mugs. The girls sing, and they all dance, and Sehun watches in awe, eyes closing slow and slower still. 

He falls to the pillowed couch, closes his eyes with a smile. 

It is much later that he is awoken, and it is with a weight overtop him. 

“Morning,” Baekhyun says, and he settles his legs on either side of Sehun’s body, leaning down, his chest against Sehun’s until their lips meet. “Did you sleep well, my love?” 

“Yes,” Sehun says, still blinking away sleep. “Yes, I did.” 

“No, you didn’t,” Baekhyun says. “It’s only been a few hours since they all left.” 

He stands, offers Sehun a hand. 

“Where are we going?” 

“To bed,” Baekhyun says. “To rest for a while.” 

“A rest sounds nice,” Sehun tells him. 

“Yes, it does.”  
  


♔

The daily events happen in the arena.

The arena is large enough to fit a number of people Sehun couldn’t even begin to count, face after face turning into a sea before them. It’s built of limestone, the kind Sehun remembers from the journey, and the arena looks earthy white, almost the color of bone. The platforms are raised so that all observers can see, but not so high that Sehun couldn’t see the top when he stood outside. 

The wrestling matches are highly anticipated, and people bet upon the outcomes, taking great care to throw their money behind the wrestler they believe to be best. There are famed wrestlers among them, and those are the matches that Baekhyun goes to see. There are countless smaller fights between lesser skilled wrestlers, but they run from dawn until dusk, and they couldn’t possibly see them all. 

The wrestling ring is nothing like what Sehun’s seen before, fights between boys in fields where the lines are marked in the dirt. Instead, the wrestlers fight upon a raised platform, something of a stage, and when the line of the fighters for the day climb to the stage, they bow before Baekhyun lights the flame at the center of the arena. 

The sparks alight the brazier, and the audience erupts into cheers, standing on their feet. He’s mesmerized by all the skin as the fighters walk into their lines, start to draw their lots. The betting begins, people shouting at the book-keepers once the orders are announced, but even with all the sound, Sehun still turns to Baekhyun. He’s positively riveted already. 

“Do they all fight naked?” 

“Of course,” Baekhyun says. 

“Is there...is there a purpose for that?” Sehun laughs. 

“My amusement? Superstition?” He trails a hand along Sehun’s thigh as the rest of them continue to clamor over wagers. “Because they enjoy the feeling of another man against them?” 

Sehun inhales sharply, and Baekhyun slips his fingers beneath the silk of Sehun’s outerwear, skimming along the thin fabric of his pants. There is heat underneath Baekhyun’s fingertips, and Sehun feels himself rising to it, rising to meet it. He closes his eyes, the warmth overwhelming in the summer air, before he— 

A single trumpet horn splits through everything, and Sehun practically jumps back in his seat as Baekhyun laughs, withdrawing his hand. 

“Are you so easy for me now?” Baekhyun asks. 

“You know damn well I’ve always been easy for you,” Sehun scoffs, and he folds his arms across his chest before the first two fighters step onto the stage, and for a moment, he cannot believe his eyes. He squints, maybe his sight is going bad, but no, no matter how much or how hard he stares, they do not change. 

Standing there, at the center of the stage, are Hyunwoo and Hoseok, completely naked, golden skin shining, heads bowed before Baekhyun. 

“W-What are they doing?” Sehun asks. “They’re—” 

“They’re two of the best wrestlers,” Baekhyun says. “Did you expect them not to compete?” 

Truthfully, he hadn’t known any of it, hadn’t gotten close enough to know. He’s never paid much attention to the things that hadn’t demanded his attention; running the city and living, breathing Baekhyun was already so much of his focus. 

“It just...surprised me, that’s all,” Sehun says. “Do you know why?” 

“Why what?” 

“Why they compete?”

“For some of them, it’s only for a bit of fun,” Baekhyun says. “For others, it’s the gold.” 

“And the rest?” 

Baekhyun turns, and when he lifts Sehun’s hand to his mouth, he kisses it gently. 

“For glory.” 

Is there much glory in this? Sehun wonders. But when Hyunwoo finally pins Hoseok to the floor of the rink, the sweat dripping from the both of them as Hoseok yields, Baekhyun jumps to his feet, clapping his hands together happily. 

There’s as much glory in it as there can be, he supposes, and he stands, applauds them alongside his lover.  
  


♔

They days flit by them, pages turning so quickly that Sehun barely notices the movement. The first month of the festivals feels like one long day, one unending day of indulgence, merriment, pleasure.

Baekhyun’s hand in his is firm, unrelenting as he laughs, pulling Sehun off. 

“Where are we _going_?” Sehun laughs, and there is a healthy buzz of drunkenness in his head. “Baekhyunnie.” 

Baekhyun spins, lets Sehun’s momentum carry him forward into Baekhyun’s arms until they are kissing, passionate, deep. He can taste everything about him, rich on his tongue. 

“Say it again, won’t you?” 

Sehun blinks slowly, a smile spreading across his face. “Baekhyunnie.” 

Baekhyun shivers happily in Sehun’s embrace, like it’s settling him down into the soles of his sandals. They move through the palace, and suddenly, Sehun knows the way, knows where they’re going. One of his favorite places, and Baekhyun knows it. 

“Leave,” Baekhyun says, and the few stragglers in the gardens exit, hands clasped around goblets of wine, giggling as they bow to Baekhyun. 

When they’ve all gone, Baekhyun pulls him to the bench, sits him down. 

“Come on,” he orders, pulling the ties at Sehun’s back. “Get it off.” 

There is a hungry look in Baekhyun’s eyes, and he doesn’t know what it was that caused it. Perhaps it was the venom wine they sipped at that evening, the bottle Yixing sent as a gift, a sign of rebuilt goodwill between them. Maybe it was the match they saw just moments before, the way the men moved around each other, their flesh, their bodies. Or maybe it was nothing. Perhaps it was just Baekhyun, needing him the way Sehun needs him in exchange. 

The robe falls, and so too does his chemise, but his pants require untying, and Baekhyun gets to his knees before Sehun, fingers moving in a flurry as he unties them. There is the gentle pattering of water all around them, cicadas singing in the night, and Baekhyun mouths at him, delicious, beautiful. Sehun holds him carefully by the hair as he licks and sucks him. It’s too much too fast, and Sehun bucks his hips as he watches Baekhyun open his eyes, stare directly into Sehun’s eyes. 

“Baekhyun, I—” 

He presses hot, open-mouthed kisses along the length of Sehun’s cock, licks at the sensitive skin all around him, and Sehun moans sharply, head tossed back. He sucks the skin between his lips, and when Sehun looks down, there is a litter of red marks across his lower body. 

“Lie down,” Baekhyun orders, and Sehun follows his instruction, only watching as Baekhyun strips himself down, the ribbons of silk and cotton tossed to the side, and when he straddles Sehun, he takes them both in his hands. “ _Fuck_.” He tightens his grip, and Sehun’s hips struggle to push into it, weighed down by Baekhyun overtop him. 

“Baekhyun.” He moans it, trailing to a whimper as Baekhyun runs his fingers over the head, spreading the slickness there. “Baekhyunnie.” 

“Again,” he orders. “Say it again.” 

“Baekhyunnie.” 

“More,” Baekhyun says. “More, I’m going to—” 

“Come,” Sehun says. “Come, Baekhyun.” 

He will never get his fill. He will always be hungry for it, always have a deep, instinctual ache inside him for this, for Baekhyun. When they rest against each other, chest to chest, oh, how he longs to stay that way forever. There is nothing to fear, nothing to worry about. Nothing to care for except each other.  
  


♔

They hold dances in the palace in the grand hall, and the firelight gives the room a beautiful orange glow as the night sinks down atop them. There are so many people in attendance, so many that Sehun recognizes now. He’s heard their stories and songs, and now he knows their names. Their faces. Baekhyun’s people are becoming his own, and the Bichwood becomes his home more and more with every sunrise and sunset. They reach new heights, new apexes of belonging. And that is what home is about. Settling into the cracks. Deep and deeper still.

There are tables upon tables of finger foods, sandwiches and appetizers, light little things so as to not weigh you down. The strings play waltzing tunes, and Sehun’s got no idea how to count the steps, but as Baekhyun whirls him around, his magic lifting him just slightly above the floor. Sehun mimics the steps, and Baekhyun whispers into his ear, a hand possessively on the low of Sehun’s back. 

He picks it up quickly, and when he settles back to the floor, feet on the ground, he steps as gracefully as he knows how. 

“Look at you,” Baekhyun says softly, and he presses a kiss to Sehun’s cheek. “Look at the way you move.” 

There is no one more elegant, more poised than Baekhyun, and he dances as if moved by the sun and skies, like the shifting of the earth under his feet is of his own doing. Like he controls it all. 

There is no one more full of grace, but Sehun hopes to be someone worthy of it, someone to stand beside him and not look out of place. 

“You could never look out of place,” Baekhyun tells him. “For this is where you were always meant to be. This is where you belong.”  
  


♔

They watch the races, under the sun and occasionally under the beginnings of stars, and Sehun’s never been much of an athlete, but something about watching the men and women compete makes him want to join.

Baekhyun fans himself, the barest hint of sweat at his forehead, and in his other hand, he holds a chilled glass of wine, occasionally sipping from it. He reclines in his chair, both legs kicked over the arm, and he smiles back at Sehun, his neck stretched attractively. 

“What’s that look, larkling?” Baekhyun says. “You look as if you want to fly with the rest of the birds.” 

Sehun hums, takes a sip from his own glass. It is ice cold honey wine, perfect in the summer’s heat. He lets it sit in his mouth for a moment before he swallows, and he watches Baekhyun’s gaze follow the movement of his throat. 

“Have you ever wanted to compete?” he asks. “Try your hand?” 

“I’ve got magic in my fucking blood,” Baekhyun laughs. “Wouldn’t be much of a competition.” 

Sehun smiles, imagining it. “Suppose not.” 

“Besides,” Baekhyun says, reaching out to take Sehun’s hand in his, “I’ve already celebrated the greatest victory known to time, the prize better than all others.” 

“And what’s that?” 

“I’ve found you,” Baekhyun simpers, “and I took you to my bed.” 

Sehun shakes his hand loose as Baekhyun cackles, and Sehun wrinkles his nose at him. “You’re drunk.”

“ _You’re_ drunk,” Baekhyun accuses. 

“A bit,” Sehun admits. 

“Then let’s get you drunker.” He snaps his fingers, and the glass in Sehun’s hand magically refills. “Maybe you’ll suck my cock later.” 

“I don’t have to be drunk to suck your cock, _my lord_.” 

“No,” Baekhyun says with a grin, “but it might help the odds. And I’ll do anything to win you. Over and over again, larkling.”  
  


♔

As they stretch their legs into the second month of the festivals, the daily competitions stretch to arts. Sehun’s never been exceptionally smart when it comes to any kind of art, but he certainly likes being able to judge, even with no experience.

“A creature of pure beauty knows aesthetics,” Baekhyun reasons. “He knows them because he _is_ them, has them built into him.” 

“You flatter me,” Sehun says, an echo of yesterdays, and Baekhyun shouts a laugh as they sit below the canopy, fanning themselves gently as the heats rise day after day. 

They watch painters work, and there is something exceptionally calming about it, watching the gentle way they flick their brushes, the canvases stretched across the wooden boards smelling of orange oil. They paint diligently, and occasionally, Sehun sees the girl on the left, the one closest to him, look up at him, eyebrows furrowed. She is small, long dark hair pin straight over her shoulders. She wears a blush on her cheeks, but Sehun can’t tell if it’s makeup or if it’s just natural. Either way, she is beautiful, incredibly so, and her dark brown eyes stare directly into him. 

He sits a bit straighter in his seat, as if being studied, and he’s careful not to move. He doesn’t want to disturb her, but at the same time, he watches her solely as she watches him. 

When the afternoon has come to a close, Baekhyun pops a grape into his mouth, snapping it happily as they turn their works around for judgement. 

“Oh, the ruins,” Baekhyun notes, and he holds his hand under his chin. “Haunting. You almost feel as if you were there.” 

It is a stunning recreation, even just from what Baekhyun’s told him of the place, what he’s read in the journals. There is a ghostly air to it, something indescribable and unknowable, a place where magic rules over men, too soaked into the sands. It is as haunting as Baekhyun said, and white smoke rises, surrounds the crushed castles. A cloak of it. A shiver’s sent down Sehun’s spine. 

“Well done,” he says, and the woman bows to him. 

They move to the second painting, and a man stands behind it. It is a landscape, a beautiful seaside, and it reminds him of the freezing seaside at their south. He and Junmyeon went, once or twice, just to see how cold it could be, and somehow, the sheets of ice melted all around them. Still, by the time they came out of the water, Sehun’s teeth were chattering, his body wracked by tremors. 

“Esdare waters,” Baekhyun says. “Crystal clear waters. Beautiful. Absolutely—” 

“Beautiful,” Sehun finishes, noticing the detail, the way the waves of the water are marked with strokes. 

Finally, they face the girl, and she looks so young, Sehun is shocked to hear that Baekhyun knows her name. Sehun is even more shocked when he looks upon his own visage, almost like he’s looking in a mirror. It is a stunning recreation of himself, but somehow even more beautiful. There is swirling gold all around him, the background fallen away into molten, liquid gold, and there is a starburst of gold in his eyes like Baekhyun is living within him. Like he can see Baekhyun in himself. 

“Joohyun,” Baekhyun says. “A smart play.” 

“When you have the opportunity to put your thumb on the scale, you ought to try your luck, don't you think, my lord? You might as well try to put your whole hand,” she says, and she brushes her hair over her shoulder. 

Baekhyun throws his head back and laughs before turning to one of the Golds, massive beside him. “Have it taken to the palace, will you? And take a bottle of the apple cider for yourself. You’re done for the day.” 

The Gold bows happily, lifting the painting easily, lifting a bottle of the cider even easier, before leaving them. Baekhyun then reaches to the table, and he retrieves three hefty bags of gold, one significantly larger than the rest. Joohyun gets the largest, a little smile on her face when he sets it into her arms. 

“Perhaps our best competition yet,” Baekhyun bows. “Your talent is unchallenged, and on behalf of us all, I hope to extend our most sincere thanks for your participation and for sharing your gift with the world.” 

They all bow, and they’re quick as they gather their supplies. They leave them, Joohyun throwing her hair over her shoulder again when she leaves. And when she’s walking away, she throws a wink to Sehun, arms full of gold. 

Sehun nudges Baekhyun as he lounges back, popping another grape into his mouth. “You’re too easily swayed.” Sehun lays back, grabs his fan, begins to fan himself gently. “It could have been the worst portrait of me ever, and you still would have picked her.” 

“Of course,” Baekhyun says. And he sits up, a grape in his fingers. He leans over, brushes the soft, cool skin of the fruit along Sehun’s lips before he opens, Baekhyun pushing it inside his mouth. It is a burst of sweetness on his tongue, and he smiles. “A portrait of you, no matter how skilled, is more beautiful than anything else in the world.”  
  


♔

In the evenings of the Seventh, they start to take their baths publicly.

The baths are exceptionally clean thanks to Baekhyun’s magic, and there is a certain glamour to the bathhouse. The tilework is Baekhyun’s colors, crisp white, shimmering gold, blood red. There are pointed suns tiled into the floors, and the suns wave when you stare at them through the water. 

The people don’t exactly keep their distance like usual, which is strange to Sehun. He’s gotten used to everyone respecting his space, giving him a bit of a cushion as if they’re frightened or intimidated by him. Now, they sidle right up to him, begin to talk to him about his life and his station in the palace, asking all sorts of questions about how the palace works and giving their advice on how it could be run better. He isn’t sure if it’s because of the wine or because of the festivals themselves, but Sehun is grateful. 

He supposes that at some point, it could be annoying, but for now, he is shocked but how endearing and beautiful he finds it. It wasn’t so long ago that he had nothing to talk about. But now, he can speak for hours and hours with near-strangers, and he’s got so, so much to say to them. 

He talks until his fingers and toes get wrinkly, and when he looks across the bath, Baekhyun is watching him, smiling at him. 

It’s later, once they’re dried and climbing into bed that he asks. 

“What were you studying me so closely for?” 

Baekhyun laughs, and he tumbles onto Sehun’s chest, kissing him firmly. Sehun moans as Baekhyun works his arms around Sehun’s body, hugging him close. 

“I like to watch you speak,” Baekhyun says, breathing heavily, chest working as it pushes into Sehun’s. “You looked so happy, I simply couldn’t look away.” 

“Quiet,” Sehun says, suddenly shy, and he turns his head to the side, but Baekhyun lays kisses to Sehun’s neck, makes him whimper and whine. 

“No, I’ll never be quiet.” He sucks a red mark to the hollow of Sehun’s throat, something to stay for a couple suns. “Not when you’re around.”  
  


♔

It is surreal to say the least.

He watches some approximation of himself hold some approximation of Baekhyun, head cradled in his lap. 

“Stay with me,” the actor says. “Stay with me here, in the middle of these sands and storms. For I am nothing without you next to me. For I become everything with you by my side. For you have changed my life with your ethereal light.” 

The actor begins to cry, and it is bizarre, watching something play out before him that’s happened in reality, but the way the boy sparks tears, it sparks tears in his own eyes too. He thought he would pass. He thought they both would pass. But here they are, stronger than ever. Celebrating life with every sun. 

The man tilts his head up, stares into the open, clear skies overhead. He wails, clutching the body of the man in his arms, and it feels too intimate to watch. Feels too raw. Was it like this? Would he have shied away from the drama if he could have? He can’t remember, but he’s sure that it hurt just as much as this, the tears streaming down from his face to Baekhyun’s, masked as someone else. 

“I will join you. I will join you soon, my love,” the man says, and he wipes his tears back with a sleeve. “Wait for me, wait until we may walk across the threshold, hand in hand. Wait until we can sit at the table, side by side. I will drink from your cup, and you will drink from mine, and finally, we will become one. These are honeyed words, but I speak them true. I am following you now as I’ve followed you across these plains of death, and when we meet again, I will tell you all these secrets I’ve meant to say. Someday. Someday.” 

It is slow, the way he collapses, falters and falls, and as soon as he’s breathed his last breath, Sehun wipes his own tears away.

Baekhyun leaps to his feet, and the applause explodes, the cheers deafening as the actors grin and stand, holding hands as they bow before them. It is clear that they’ve won, simply due to the strength of the reaction, and Sehun gets to his feet, bowing back before them. 

The competitions of plays have seen plenty of historical scenes, plenty of myths, but the playwrights know how to pull on the heartstrings of the judges now. How many plays might be written of their journey? This famed pilgrimage? How many reimaginations of Baekhyun’s glamor, of their falling in love, of the struggles and strifes?

When Baekhyun hugs him close later that evening, he whispers into Sehun’s ear, lips against the lobe. 

“You inspire so much beauty,” he says. “All you do is spread beauty across the world.” 

The festival months are all about indulgence, and what, Sehun wonders, is more indulgent than this?  
  


♔

The final night of the Seventh, they eat their supper on the balcony. The sun sets, leaving the world orange, red, pink. The stars emerge as they eat, a light meal of red fish, feta cheese, and cucumbers.

“You hate the cucumbers,” Sehun says, and he takes them off Baekhyun’s plate and places them onto his own. 

“Yes, but you don’t,” Baekhyun says, and he helps Sehun along, grabbing a piece of bread after, looking out over the kingdom. 

As it all goes dark blue, little spots of orange split through the sky, the parties still surviving into the night. There is laughter, shouting. Happy sounds, and they observe together, small sips of wine as they drink it all in. 

“Are you as exhausted as I?” Baekhyun laughs. 

“More,” Sehun says, and he holds Baekhyun’s hand over the table top, rubs his thumb along Baekhyun’s. “I need sleep.” 

“You’ll get it.” And he takes Sehun’s hand, kisses it. “You can wake as late as you want tomorrow. What would you like to eat for breakfast?” 

“Eggs,” Sehun says, sighing. “Eggs with runny yolks and four rashers of bacon, and two slices of hearty toast. Well toasted, too, nearly burnt.” 

Baekhyun wrinkles his nose. “Foul.” He nudges a cucumber on Sehun’s plate closer towards him. “Awful taste.” 

Sehun tilts his head back, nose in the air as he looks up and down Baekhyun, learned haughtiness. 

“That does explain a lot,” he says. 

“Oh, that’s absolutely _it_ ,” Baekhyun says, hands flat on the table before he stands sharply, grabbing Sehun away from the table. 

“I’m not finished my meal!” 

But Baekhyun doesn’t listen to his false protests, only tears him away from the night before tearing him out of his clothes, everything falling away from them.  
  


♔

Where the Sixth and the Seventh were high-powered, excitable, running from event to event, drinking all day under the sun and into the evening, sleeping little, touching each other whenever they could, the Eighth is much more relaxed.

And thank Baekhyun for that, because Sehun needs it. 

It seems the after-effects of two months have compounded, because when he wakes, he is overwhelmed by the pounding in his head, between his eyes. He groans, mouth dry, and he thinks maybe this is the end of him. 

“Oh, stop being so dramatic,” Baekhyun says, and he pushes a tray into Sehun’s lap. “Take the vial, and then eat.” 

Sehun sits up, bleary, and he squints down at the food. It smells divine, and it’s—it’s exactly what he asked for. Runny eggs. Bacon. Nearly burnt toast. He grins at Baekhyun, but Baekhyun only rolls his eyes. 

“As if I’d deny you anything,” Baekhyun says. “You could ask for the sun, and I’d pull it from the sky, you fool.” 

Sehun smiles happily as he crunches through his toast, dipping the corners yellow, and the headache falls away from him. 

“On our agenda?” Sehun asks, already thinking of what the Eighth could possibly have in store for them. 

“A ride, I think,” Baekhyun says with a grin. “It’s been so long.” 

“Yes, you’re right.” 

“Oh, you little lark.” He reaches forward to tap Sehun on the nose. “Long for me. You’ve never ridden before.” 

Sehun raises a brow. “Course I have.” 

“Not like this,” Baekhyun says, and he kisses Sehun on the forehead. “Never like this.”  
  


♔

They walk to the stables, and then behind them, a place that Sehun’s never been before.

“Where are we going?” he wonders with a laugh, Baekhyun pulling him along by a tight grip on his wrist . “Do you intend to dispose of me near the hay bales? It would be a terrible hiding place. The Reds still come to water and feed the animals, you know.” 

“Shut up, won’t you?” 

Sehun follows him, grinning madly, before they stop before the grand stables, dark wood towering before them. 

“The—” 

“The Bichwood horses,” Baekhyun says, “also known as the day mares. Would you like to ride one, larkling?” 

“Y-Yes, of course, but…” 

“But what?” Baekhyun asks, hand on the stable door. 

“But is it allowed?” 

Baekhyun wrinkles his nose cutely, stepping onto his tiptoes to kiss Sehun chastely. “You’ve been ruling my kingdom for a Triad now, and you’re worried about a damn horse. The purest heart I’ve ever seen.”

Sehun pushes past him then, shouldering his way in until he’s opening the doors, faced down with the most beautiful horses he’s ever seen. Black coats of velvet, wings of shimmering gold. It still shocks a breath out of him, to see them up close. 

“Aren’t they something?” Baekhyun says, wrapping his arms around Sehun’s middle. 

“They certainly are.” 

The horses all respond to Baekhyun’s presence, as well-trained as they are beautiful, and they’re gentle in disposition as Baekhyun takes two horses from their stalls and then from their stables. Without a lead or anything. 

“Don’t you need—” 

Baekhyun scoffs. “Silly boy.” He leads the horse out, tacks him up with practiced ease, but the horse remains without a bit in it’s mouth, only a simple looped bridle around it’s head. “They know where to go. You just need to hang on.” 

They lift themselves up onto two of the horses, and they move on their own accord, jolting to movement, forcing Sehun to grab for the reins, tightening his thighs on either side of the horse’s body. From there, the horse moves fluidly, and Sehun is surprised at just how smooth the stride is. 

Baekhyun leads him around in a wide, gentle circle, and Sehun gets accustomed to the way the horse walks, the way it trots. When Baekhyun looks back over his shoulder, smiling at Sehun, Sehun tries to smile back, but he knows what comes next. 

“Don’t look so scared,” Baekhyun laughs. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you they can sense your fear?” 

“I’m not _scared_ ,” Sehun tells him petulantly, and perhaps it is a mistake because Baekhyun’s grin widens, and he whistles. 

With that, the horses start to flap their wings, and Sehun only has a few seconds to adjust his grip upon the horse before they start to run, full gallop, a sprint, the wind flipping through his hair, and then in one great push, they are lifted from the ground, the wings carrying them off into the clouds. 

He cannot catch his breath, and the horse continues to beat its wings sporadically as they soar through the skies. It is the most exhilarating feeling, better even than being lifted from the ground with Baekhyun’s power, and his stomach drops as the horses spirals down before rising back up into the air, rising, rising. 

The palace and the city, it all looks appears so small below them when he looks to the ground, and he’s lucky, he thinks, that he isn’t afraid of heights. He chokes out a laugh, pets a hand along the horse’s velvety soft neck, and he hugs himself close to the creature, feeling the waving motion of the flight take him, closing his eyes for a moment as they float above it all. 

“Are you alright?”

Sehun opens his eyes, looks beside him to where Baekhyun is flying beside him, spine straight in his saddle.

“Wonderful,” Sehun says, and strike him down if it isn’t true.  
  


♔

They fly for as long as Baekhyun will let them, but Sehun thinks it’s much too soon when his horse’s hooves touch back down onto the soft sands.

When Sehun jumps to the ground, Baekhyun close behind him, he walks over to him, grabs Baekhyun’s face between his hands, and he kisses him sharply. He runs his hands down over Baekhyun’s body, cradles him by the back of the neck and the small of his back as he breathes out harshly, kissing him as hard as he can. 

It is a while before he pulls back, chest heaving with work. Baekhyun knocks his forehead against Sehun’s, pulling him in by the fabric of his robe. 

“So you liked it?” Baekhyun smiles, lips red. 

“Yes,” Sehun says. “I liked it.” 

He is gentle when he strips his horse of the tack, guiding him back to his stall for water and for sugar cubes. 

“You’re spoiling him,” Baekhyun says, kissing him on the cheek. 

“He deserves to be spoiled.” 

“Now, you finally know how I feel about you.”  
  


♔

They ride every day, every morning. He’s never been so excited to get up in the morning, and he nudges Baekhyun awake earlier and earlier. But Sehun cannot get enough of the feeling. The flight. He closes his eyes in the wind, feels his body split the gusts in half, and he would spend all day here in the sky if Baekhyun would allow him.

“Let them rest,” Baekhyun says. “They’ve got to fly later on.” 

“I let them _rest_ ,” Sehun says. “As if I’m _cruel_.” 

“No, no, you’re right. Not a cruel bone in your body.” 

Sehun smirks, bites down on his joke. 

“You needn’t even say it,” Baekhyun says. “I can see it written all over your face.”  
  


♔

The Eighth month floats past them like that, upon the wings of the day mares. The celebrations are calmer, more relaxed, and in the evenings, they retire to the gardens. Sehun reclines into Baekhyun’s embrace, Baekhyun’s arms around his body, and they listen to the readings.

A girl with her black hair braided into a crown sits in the center of them all, and she holds their rapt attention in her palms as she reads. 

_Come now, rest before me,_  
and listen to the songs, boys of melted gold   
and rubies crushed to dust. 

_They will remember these songs,_  
and they will be sung for long after you’re gone.   
You will leave a cool shadow behind you,   
one that even the sun cannot move. 

_Oh lover, blessed lover,  
stay with me through the night. _

_Lover, favored lover,  
watch the light rise from your eyes._

When Sehun twists in Baekhyun’s arms, looks up to him, there are tears in his eyes. 

“Hush now,” he says. “There is nothing to cry for.” 

“Of course there is,” Baekhyun says, voice tight. “You can always cry for beginnings and ends.”  
  


♔

Joongi closes his record-keeping book, the one for the current year, and when he puts it next to the rest, a line of black leather all pristine, he turns back to the rest of them.

“With that,” Joongi says, “the festivals come to their official close.” 

They clap, happy for the way all went according to plan, and Sehun smiles brightly. How many more festivals will he see open and close? He isn’t sure. But he is certain that he will always remember his first. 

There is a firm knock on the door, and all in the room direct their attention to the sound. 

“Enter,” Sehun says. 

The door swings open, and stepping forward, there is a small Gold, small both in stature and presence. He keeps his eyes low, doesn’t meet the eye-line of anyone in the study, not even Hyunwoo. 

“A letter,” the Gold says. And he steps forward, places the little scroll into Sehun’s hands. “It just arrived by raven.” 

“Oh,” Sehun says, and his brow crinkles. Normally, they don’t hand deliver such communications by hand. Not unless they’re important. 

He turns the letter over in his hand, studies the wax seal for any clue of who the correspondence could be from. But there is no imprinted design, just a simple seal of red. And Sehun holds it close to his chest. What could it possibly be? 

He ignores it for the moment, looking around at the table. Hyunwoo, Hoseok, Joongi....they watch him, waiting for any response. 

“Uh, are there any more pressing matters to attend to this afternoon?” he asks. 

“Nothing that can’t be discussed tomorrow after the Triad,” Joongi says. 

“Then, I’ll relieve you of your boredom,” Sehun says with a smile. “Until tomorrow. Please, get your rest. You all deserve it.” 

The men stand, and Sehun follows them to the door. They filter through, Hoseok, then Hyunwoo, each turning with a little smile and a tilt of their head towards Sehun. It’s become an exchange, the way they bow to each other. Trust and respect. That’s how Sehun runs his council, after all. 

But when it is Joongi’s turn to exit, he stands there, bright eyes. 

“Might I know from whom the correspondence originates?” Joongi asks, and Sehun rolls his eyes. 

“Am I not allowed to have secrets?” 

“No, you aren’t,” Joongi smiles. “Hurry, open it. I’m so hoping that our diplomacy with Jongdae has been successful.” 

Surely, Sehun thinks, surely if it was from Jongdae, it would bear his sigil, the jagged bolt of lightning that the rest of the missives have. And as he pops the seal, unfurls it, his stomach sinks to the bottom of his feet. 

The handwriting is immediately familiar to him, and quickly, he rolls the scroll back up before he reads any further. 

“O-Oh,” Joongi says, and Sehun’s face must speak volumes. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” 

Sehun smiles tightly, though he attempts to keep his shock, upset, anger to himself. He’s never been good at it though. “Do not worry. It’s just...I must respond to this in private. You understand, right?” 

“Y-Yes, yes, of course,” Joongi says, and he hurries along, leaves Sehun to the letter. 

It’s been so long since he’s seen the silly curves, the abrupt edges of Junmyeon’s handwriting, and his eyes begin to water as they glide over the first words: _Dearest Sehun, I do hope you’ve been well…_  
  


♔

He is thankful that Baekhyun has found a use for himself that afternoon, leaving the chambers empty. When he returns, he sits along the lounge chair, hunches over the scroll of parchment, and again, his eyes water. How can a letter that’s traveled far and wide still smell vaguely of home? Of the lush green fields of Mulvilla that he hasn’t seen in so very long?

Sehun wipes his eyes carefully, steadies his breathing, and then, he reads. 

_I do hope you’ve been well. I must confess, there has not been a day that’s passed me by that I have not thought of you and how you’ve been faring there in the Bichwood._

_I’ve heard many things of your life there, but I keep waiting to hear from your own lips. I will not believe anything until I hear it from you._

_I’m afraid I’m taking far too much of your time in this silly little letter. I’m greedy this way, and I suppose I always have been. In a way, you were right when you left. I kept you away from much of this world. Please know, Sehun, that I only did it because I wanted to protect you. I would have done anything, anything this world demanded of me, all to protect you._

_As your year of service comes to a close, I wanted to write to let you know of my apology. I hope you return home soon. You always have a place here. This is your home. And I hope to be able to apologize in person soon. Forgive me._

_Please come home._

_With eternal love, your brother,  
Junmyeon _

Sehun is careful not to let his tears fall onto the paper, and he deftly rolls it back up, swiping the tears away from his eyes. He places the parchment in his desk. Thinks about what he’s done.  
  


♔

Throughout the day, he keeps himself busy, doesn’t spend any more time thinking of it. But each time he puts the thoughts away, hides them back in his mind, two more spring up, and he swats them away only for the process to repeat. It is no use, he realizes. He’s got to do something.

He doesn’t know where to find Taeil now, with his new Gold duties, so he finds Hyunwoo. 

“Oh,” he says cheerily. “Of course! Taeil is one of our best.” 

Sehun feels a little swell of pride in him at the praise, and he lets it carry him until he arrives at Taeil’s side in the grand library. The walls of books in the council room does not compare to the grand library. Sehun stands within the massive room, staring up at the arched ceilings in wonderment. There must be thousands, hundreds of thousands of books, and the room smells richly of leather and parchment, of ink and of dreams within pages. 

“They’re cleaning and cataloging,” Hyunwoo informs him. “A great task entrusted to only the most diligent. Forgive me, though, I must be going. I’ve much to do this afternoon.” 

Another jolt of pride sinks into Sehun, and he bows his head upon Hyunwoo’s leave. 

“What are you doing here?” Taeil smiles. “Thought you had...Favored tasks to attend to.” 

“I need your help,” Sehun says. “I need your counsel.” 

Taeil smirks, brushes the dust on his hands off on his robe, turns to face Sehun fully. “Counsel? Don’t you have, I don’t know, _councilors_ for such a thing?” 

“Do you want the afternoon off, or do you not?” Sehun asks. 

Taeil’s eyes go wide, and he shoves a giant tome back into the empty space on the shelf. 

“Lead the way, O Wise and Fair Favored one.” 

“I swear…” 

Taeil shoulders into him as he walks past, his sandals making the happiest sounds as he walks past. They don’t get _much_ time to enjoy to themselves. Hyunwoo was right, Taeil is incredibly diligent, and he doesn’t often like when Sehun interjects himself into his tasks. Exceptions, however, can be made. 

They walk to the northern gardens, and Taeil doesn’t even need to be told where to go, a mark of their friendship. They too have come a long way from the depths of the washrooms, and Sehun is glad of it. 

The gardens are as beautiful as ever, and some Golds tend to flowers quietly as they move through them. Taeil greets one, and the Gold laughs with him. Sehun smiles, stays quiet, and he observes the plant life, listens to the falling waters of the fountain as they walk. 

“So,” Taeil says, threading his arm through Sehun’s, patting him on the hand. “What seems to be the trouble?” 

“I got a letter,” Sehun says, voice quiet as it all creeps back into him. “A letter from home.” 

“Oh.” And Taeil’s hand tightens on his, like he expected something less serious. “And what did the letter say?” 

“He wished for me to return home,” Sehun says. “After the final Triad.” 

“And what do you wish?” 

Sehun turns to him. “What?” 

“I asked what you wish for,” Taeil says, and he turns, stops them. He reaches up to hold Sehun by the shoulders. “What do you want, Sehun?” 

“I-I—” 

“Don’t think too much on it,” Taeil advises. “Once you think too much, you start forgetting what you desire. You start acting on what _others_ desire. And that’s good, a touch of it. But don’t forget who you are.” 

Sehun draws a breath sharply, as if he’s forgotten for too long, and he stems the wave of a cry as it mounts within him. 

“I want to see him,” he says, and his voice trembles. “I want to apologize for everything I’ve done and said. I was childish. I was so stupid. I can’t...I can’t believe I was so blinded. I can’t believe I left him in such a state. And I never...I never wrote. I never told him I was sorry.” 

“He will forgive you,” Taeil says, and he pulls Sehun close to him. “He will welcome you home. If I know one thing, it is this: he loves you deeply. He would never turn his back on you for good.”

Sehun shuts his eyes, and an unfortunate tear slips down his face, dripping onto the linen of Taeil’s robe. 

“I can’t leave,” Sehun says, and he can feel his body shaking against Taeil’s. “He would never allow it.” 

Taeil is quiet for a moment as he lets Sehun calm, and then, deliberately, he withdraws, looks into Sehun’s eyes. 

“You are not bound by what he allows. You are far, far past such a thing.” 

Sehun lets Taeil bring him back to his chest, holds him in an embrace the stretches on too long. But he takes it, takes it gratefully. Greedily. 

“What do you want?” Taeil asks. “Think on it. Do you want to stay here? Do you want to be bound by him?” 

In some way, he does. There is nothing that is sweeter, being wrapped up tightly by the arms of your lover. There is a base comfort to it, like the way babes cry until they’re folded in linens, held close to their mother’s heart. 

But Sehun has learned much on his journey. He’ll stay forever in Baekhyun’s heart, and yet he yearns for open skies, for open roads, and for a home to return to.  
  


♔

When he retires to Baekhyun’s chambers, the candles are all lit. One thousand flames make the room pulse with orange, red.

Baekhyun is sprawled across the bed, robe thrown open casually. He touches himself lazily, fingers dancing like sparks over his skin. Sehun watches him for a moment. He loves Baekhyun. He’s known it for a year now, more maybe, but...he’s struck by it then as he observes him. The sharpness of it. The danger. He would stay here forever. That’s why he has to leave. 

He is duty-bound to stay only until the morning. And he will make their final night one to remember. 

The god doesn’t see him at first, doesn’t hear him. Or maybe he does, Sehun muses, maybe he wants to put on a show. 

But then Baekhyun meets Sehun’s eye, grins wickedly. 

“Lover,” Baekhyun calls, hands grasping at air. 

“I’m coming, my lord,” Sehun says, lapsing back into something familiar, and he steps forward. 

“Not quickly enough, lark.” 

Sehun stands at the edge of the massive bed and pulls at the ties of his robe, letting it fall to the floor. Smiles at Baekhyun. 

“Oh,” Baekhyun gasps. “Aren’t you a sight?” 

“Am I?” Sehun asks, and he runs his hands over his stomach. 

“One of the wonders of the world.” 

“Me?” Sehun asks, slipping a hand down to play at his cock. “Or…?” 

“Two wonders of the world, then,” Baekhyun says. “And if you don’t come satisfy me, I’ll be forced to make you all ten.” 

“Which other parts, my lord?” Sehun asks coyly. 

“Which other parts what?” Baekhyun says. 

“Which other parts of me,” Sehun says, fingers dancing at the tip of his dick, “would be the other eight wonders?” 

“Turn around, and I’ll make one quite clear,” Baekhyun smiles. 

Sehun crawls onto the bed and kisses Baekhyun squarely, leaving little of his intentions to the imagination. He will serve his god well, even if he knows he will be leaving when the sun rises. 

“How would you like it, my lord?” Sehun whispers. 

“How would you like it, lark?” Baekhyun whispers back. 

“I am in your service,” Sehun says. “It isn’t about what I want.” 

Baekhyun grabs Sehun by the shoulders, digs his fingernails in enough to make a gasp fall from Sehun’s mouth. He rolls them both, Sehun’s back against the bed. 

“It’s always been about what you want, little lark,” Baekhyun says. 

“My lord,” Sehun says, deferential as he’s learned to be. Learned, forgotten. And learned again. 

“How many times must I say it?” Baekhyun asks, and he begins to kiss his way down Sehun’s body. “I love you. I have never loved one the way I love you.” 

“I love you,” Sehun returns, already losing sight of what he came to do. “Baekhyun, I love you.” 

“Mm,” Baekhyun hums happily, and he circles his tongue around Sehun’s nipple, enough stimulation to make Sehun throw his shoulders back, pushing his chest up and into it. “Say it again, lark.” 

“I love you,” Sehun says. 

“Good,” Baekhyun praises. “So good.” 

And he strokes Sehun’s cock with a clever hand as he kisses down Sehun’s stomach. 

Sehun’s body rises into the affection, and he gasps as Baekhyun slithers down, down, down. Sehun will never tire of it, couldn’t possibly. The thought alone is addictive, still, after all this time: a god splits his legs, a god lays between them, a god licks at the head of his cock, a god worships _him_. 

“Look at you,” Baekhyun says, kissing and licking around Sehun’s balls. “Perfection.” 

“My lord,” Sehun gasps. 

“When they write of us,” Baekhyun says, “they write of your incomprehensible beauty.” 

He pauses to swallow Sehun down to the root, his tongue flicking out expertly. Sehun takes Baekhyun’s face in his hands, settles the urge in his stomach to thrust up into the heat. 

Baekhyun pulls off, strokes Sehun’s cock wetly as he breathes harshly. 

“When they write our story, our _whole_ story,” Baekhyun says, “they will tell tales of the way you captured me. The way you stole my heart and kept it forever.” 

“In the books, will they call this your desecration?” Sehun breathes, pushing his cock through the circle of Baekhyun’s lips as he hums. 

Baekhyun moans and puts his hands on Sehun’s hips, pulling him forward. His nose touches the lowest part of Sehun’s abdomen as he swallows around Sehun’s length. 

“The filth in your mind,” Sehun praises, hands in Baekhyun’s hair. “I confess, I did wonder why the priests who keep your temple are not required to be virgins. Now I know.” 

Baekhyun pulls Sehun back by the hips, Sehun’s cock brushing against the plush red of Baekhyun’s lips. 

“Hush,” Baekhyun says. 

“Why, my lord?” 

“You must know that I’ve never kept anyone as I keep you,” Baekhyun says, and he kisses up and down the shaft of Sehun’s dick. “You’re my Favored. I’ll keep you and only you. Forever.” 

“If I didn’t know better, my lord, I’d think you wanted me to spend,” Sehun says breathlessly, watching the way Baekhyun tongues sloppily over the head of his cock. “It is a shame that I am the only servant here who knows your talent at servicing a man.” 

“You sound as if you want to see it,” Baekhyun says, kissing Sehun’s dick. It’s such a pretty picture that Sehun closes his eyes. “You want me defiled? You want to see your god kneel for other men? Want him to take the seed of others?” 

White hot heat surges and spills through Sehun’s body, and he quickly bites down on his lip, the shoot of pain enough to bring him back from the edge. 

“No,” Sehun says. “Only me. Only for me.” 

“Yes,” Baekhyun says, “only you,” and he swallows Sehun down again, soft throat fluttering around Sehun’s length. 

“Baekhyun,” Sehun moans. “Please.” 

It is delicious, terrifying how the swelling heat moves through him, wings of a butterfly fluttering it through his chest, down into his stomach, lower. 

Sehun shuts his eyes, unable to focus on anything besides all the many ways Baekhyun is ripping sounds from his chest. The obscene sounds of his mouth, the way he hums over Sehun’s cock. It’s too much. 

Sehun pushes him off, chest working hard as Baekhyun stares up at him, licking his lips. 

The oil flies from the table, lands in Baekhyun’s hands, and he slicks himself, slicks along Sehun’s cock. 

“Let me touch you,” Sehun says. “Let me worship you.” 

“No,” Baekhyun tells him, and he straddles Sehun’s body, sinks down onto him with one smooth motion, splintering all the air from Sehun’s chest. “No, let me worship _you_.” 

Sehun falls back to the bed, and he can feel the way his face twists with pleasure, his toes curling as his hands fall to Baekhyun’s hips. Baekhyun rides him effortlessly, the tight moans punched from his throat as if he didn’t want to let them go. 

It’s too good, it’s much too good, and Sehun’s fingers tighten along Baekhyun’s middle as he helps him move, pushing and pulling his body back and forth. It’s delicious, and when Baekhyun falls to him, chest to chest, Sehun kisses him passionately, licks into his mouth and tastes himself. 

“I want you to come inside me,” Baekhyun says against Sehun’s lips. “I want to feel you leak out of me.” 

Sehun shudders, and he suddenly turns, pushes Baekhyun onto his back, spreading his legs to make room for himself, knelt into the space. He thrusts, their skin slapping together with a crack, and Baekhyun throws his head back, groaning.

Sehun grinds his hips against Baekhyun when he’s buried deep inside him, working from side to side before he withdraws once more, thrusts again, makes Baekhyun writhe over the sheets. He moans, body shaking as Sehun thunders forward, again and again, and Sehun can’t seem to help himself. 

“Sehun,” Baekhyun moans. “Sehun, larkling, you feel so good inside me. You feel so good, my love, you—” 

Sehun curses, pumps his hips harder as he tries to keep himself from spending. But Baekhyun is so tight around him, whispering the filthiest things. _Spend inside me, paint me with you. You’re going to make me scream._ And Baekhyun starts to curse, a steady chant of Sehun’s name, as if he’s saying a prayer. 

It beckons him forward, and Sehun hitches Baekhyun’s legs up, up around his body, lays himself on top of Baekhyun, wrapping his arms around him. 

“Please,” Baekhyun whispers to him. “Please, Sehun-ah, give me what I desire.” 

It seizes through him, wave after wave of the most agonizingly bright pleasure he’s ever felt, his entire body spread with light, the heat under his skin so hot that he can’t escape it. He empties himself inside Baekhyun’s body, thrusts erratic and wild as he comes, and he moans into a kiss as Baekhyun spills between them, coating them both. 

It is a while before they catch their breath, and when Sehun tries to extricate himself from the embrace simply to wipe Baekhyun clean, Baekhyun holds onto him tight, doesn’t let him leave. 

“Stay,” Baekhyun says. “Lie with me.” 

“Alright,” Sehun says. “Alright.” 

Baekhyun turns onto his side, and Sehun huddles behind him, listening to the steadying of his breathing. His arm around Baekhyun’s waist, he nuzzles into him, pets a hand through his hair. Listens to the way he purrs. 

He puts it off, puts it off, doesn't want to ruin such a moment. He wishes he didn't have to. Wishes there was another way. But often times, the hardest things to do are most imperative. He braces himself for the storm surely coming. 

He doesn’t know how to say it gently, so he says it the only way he knows how. Truthfully. 

“I’ll be leaving in the morning, before the Triad begins,” Sehun says, kissing the ridge of Baekhyun’s ear. “I wanted to let you know now.” 

There is a moment of tense silence, and Sehun wants not even to breathe for fear of what happens when the moment ends. But then, Baekhyun breaks through the moment, crumbles it between his fingers. 

“Leaving?” Baekhyun says. He turns in Sehun’s arms. “What do you mean, leaving?” 

“My summer of service has passed,” Sehun says. “I must return. Junmyeon...we haven’t spoken since I left. I have to apologize. I have to make things right. I’ll return once things have settled. Surely you understand.” 

“I confess I do not,” Baekhyun says, voice edging on hysterical. “Do not leave, Sehun. I don’t want you to leave. Don’t make me say it again, love.” 

“Baekhyun,” Sehun says pleadingly. “I _will return_. You know I will always come home to you.” 

“No, no, you... _Sehun_. Spend your days here,” Baekhyun says, and he props himself up on an elbow. “You came for my blessing. And my, how you’ve earned it. Lover, I’ll bestow it upon you every summer. Every _sun_ if you require it. By heaven and by the mount, you, Oh Sehun, have the blessing of the Bright One. There, the matter is settled. You’ll stay.”

Sehun can’t control the pleased noise he makes, pressing a kiss to Baekhyun’s cheek.

“I must go,” Sehun says, and he tangles his fingers with Baekhyun’s. 

“You can’t go,” Baekhyun says. “I won’t allow it.” 

“Why?” Sehun asks. “Why can’t I leave?” 

Baekhyun makes a noise of upset. 

“It’s too dangerous,” Baekhyun says. “Beyond these walls, there are people who seek to harm you, and I would never see you in distress, larkling.” 

He barks a laugh. “Junmyeon?” 

“No, not him.”

“Chanyeol?” 

“No, of course not.” 

“Then who? Who seeks to harm me?” Sehun says. “You never tell me who they are or why they would want to hurt me. I am not you, my lord. I am no god. There is nothing special about me.”

“ _Nothing special_ ,” Baekhyun huffs. “You’re as silly as you are special, lark.” 

“Enlighten me, my lord,” Sehun says. 

“If you require praise, you need only ask for it,” Baekhyun smiles. 

“I don’t _require_ it,” Sehun says, rolling his eyes. 

“Ah, but you do,” Baekhyun says, playing with the ends of Sehun’s hair. “You’re still too soft.” 

“A great and powerful god once told me that in a world that wants to strip you of gentleness,” Sehun says, and he leans forward to kiss Baekhyun’s lips tenderly, “softness is a virtue.” 

“This great and powerful god spoke sincerely,” Baekhyun says. “It is a virtue.”

“However?” Sehun prompts. 

“However,” Baekhyun continues, “it is a virtue that requires protection. You must keep a soft heart. Shelter it. Hold it carefully.” 

“My lord,” Sehun says. “I can take care of myself.” 

“But it is my _duty_ ,” Baekhyun says. “I will protect you. I will shelter you. I will hold you carefully.” 

“Please,” Sehun says. 

“You are smarter than you let on,” Baekhyun says. “You’re stronger than you let on. You would be an asset to anyone, any king or lord. They’d fight over you.” 

“You flatter me,” Sehun says. 

“On top of it all, you are mine,” Baekhyun says, ignoring Sehun as if he was speaking to the marble wall. “You speak for me. My Favored. You are all anyone talks about for thousands of milles. The boy of light. The keeper who is kept.” 

“My lord,” Sehun says, and Baekhyun takes his cheek in a hand. 

“I speak truly,” Baekhyun says. “They all want to know who warms the bed of the god who warms the earth. They want to catch a glimpse of the legendary beauty, the one who took stars in his hands. They want to take him for their own.” 

“You exaggerate,” Sehun says, taking Baekhyun’s hand and putting it back on his chest. 

“Accuse me again, and I’ll have your tongue,” Baekhyun says. 

“It’s yours, my lord. You must only take it,” Sehun says, and he leans forward, offering himself up. 

Baekhyun drags Sehun across the flit of space that divides them and kisses him ferociously, as if he means to possess Sehun body, mind, and soul. Sehun responds in kind, eager to be devoured if it means being consumed by pure light. 

When Baekhyun pulls back, Sehun bites at his bottom lip, dragging him into another wet kiss before Baekhyun pats him on the ass. 

“Devilish little thing,” Baekhyun says. “You’re trying to distract me.” 

“Is it working, my lord?” Sehun asks. 

“Not half as well as you’d like it to,” Baekhyun smiles. 

Sehun breathes out. Fruitless. 

“Surely no one in this world would cross you,” Sehun says. “You are too powerful. Even babes still feeding at the breast know of your might.” 

Baekhyun turns his back to Sehun, the covers shifting over him, falling off of him. Sehun is struck by how beautiful he is: the small of his back. The slope of his spine. He waves his hand, and the lights from one thousand candles die. They’re drenched by the darkness, and it feels as though Baekhyun wants the conversation to end entirely. But Sehun won’t allow it. 

“Speak to me,” Sehun begs. “Help me understand, my lord.” 

“I’ve told you not to call me that,” Baekhyun says. “Countless times I’ve told you.” 

“I must show deference to you, my lord,” Sehun says. 

Even in the darkness, Sehun can see Baekhyun split his legs with his hand, reaching between and stroking at the wetness that Sehun left there. It’s hot, much too hot, like everything Baekhyun does.

“Is this deference, little lark?” Baekhyun asks as his fingers play through the seed, and there is a laugh in his mouth. “Is this your worship?” 

Sehun presses himself at Baekhyun’s back, kisses him underneath the ear. 

“It is, my lord,” Sehun whispers. “My god begs for it so well.” 

He rolls his hips, fits himself along the cleft of Baekhyun’s ass.

“Again? So soon?” Baekhyun asks, voice airy. 

“You would have to steal my eyes from me to make me not to want you every moment of the day,” Sehun says, and he kisses along the back of Baekhyun’s neck. “God of Light. Hot like the summer.” 

“Now who is the flatterer?” Baekhyun laughs. 

“It isn’t flattery if it’s true, my lord,” Sehun says. 

“No matter how much you flatter me, no matter how well you fuck me, lark, I still will not give you my blessing to return,” Baekhyun says. 

“My lord,” Sehun says. “Please.” 

Baekhyun turns back to face him. There is something wild in his eyes. Something bright and terrifying. Sehun wants more. Wants it all. Wants it always. But—But he’s losing himself, losing himself in the shadow of Baekhyun’s light. And he can’t make Junmyeon wait any longer. 

Yet—

Baekhyun breathes in sharply, and Sehun cannot bear to look away from him.

“I can give you anything. I _will_ give you anything,” Baekhyun says. “Gold beyond your wildest dreams. Whatever luxuries these riches can buy. If you desire concubines, a harem of them, I will bring you the most beautiful women this kingdom has to offer. If you want to fuck only the purest of virgins, I will find you them. I will let you fuck as many as you want. Hundreds of them, one after another.” He takes Sehun’s face in his hands, eyes wet. “If you want to have sons, I will see them born. I will hold the girl’s hand as she bears you child after child, and I will cut the cords that bind them to their mother myself. If you want a home of your own, I will call upon Kyungsoo, and I will see the grandest palace you’ve ever conceived raised in a single day, grander even than my own. You won’t be able to count the rooms, not in a whole year would you be able to. I will polish the stones myself, on my hands and knees. Until they gleam like silver. Until you can see your perfect visage in the reflection. I will feed you all your meals by hand, and I will be cupbearer to you. I will make sure your glass never goes empty.” He runs his thumb along Sehun’s bottom lip, drags it down and scrapes a nail against it. “If you want, I will burn cities to the ground. I’ll salt the earth behind me. I’ll have you painted again, sculpted again. Written into the songs. More and more. A hundred times over.” He trembles as he touches Sehun, and his voice shakes. “Nothing means anything if I cannot have you by my side. I will do anything. I will give you whatever you desire. Whatever you wish.” 

“But this...this is what I wish,” Sehun says, and he strokes the sensitive spot beneath Baekhyun’s ear. 

He listens for the musical little moan that falls thoughtlessly from Baekhyun’s mouth. 

“No,” Baekhyun says. “Anything but this.” He rolls back over, curling in on himself. He is beautiful, every new part of him more gorgeous than the one prior. 

“It must be this,” Sehun says, and he pets down Baekhyun’s spine, fingers dancing along the soft, soft skin.

Baekhyun moans, and it sounds like the dawn. Sehun runs his hands over Baekhyun’s waist and hears the sun rise, rise, rise again. What is day without the night, Sehun wonders. 

“Sehun-ah,” Baekhyun says, and he arches his back, turning to look back at Sehun. 

He takes the opportunities that present themselves. 

He moves a flat palm down the slope of Baekhyun’s back. When Sehun slips a finger inside him, Baekhyun groans. 

“Do you give yourself to me?” Sehun asks as Baekhyun moves in his arms. 

“Yes,” Baekhyun hisses. “One thousand times, yes.” 

“Forever?” Sehun asks. 

“For this life and the next,” Baekhyun says, and he moves back against Sehun, insatiable. 

“Pledge yourself to me,” Sehun says. 

“Is that it?” Baekhyun says. “You want to see your god kneel?” 

“I’ve seen him kneel many times before,” Sehun says, and he twists his wrist to hear Baekhyun sob out a breath. “I want him to pledge.” 

“Fuck me,” Baekhyun says. “Fuck me.” 

Sehun lines himself up, pushes inside, and feels everything shatter away from them. He wants it for the rest of his days. He wants to live and die in Baekhyun’s arms. He doesn’t want to go. But he must. 

He thrusts hard, hard enough to pull tears from Baekhyun’s eyes as Sehun wraps his arms around Baekhyun’s neck, tugging him close. 

“When I made my prayers,” Sehun grunts as he fucks him,“I prayed to you. My god. But who does a god make his pledge to? Who does a god pray to? Who listens to his promise?” 

“My true love,” Baekhyun cries. “I pledge to him. To _you_.” 

“Say it,” Sehun grits out, grinding his teeth together against the feeling of Baekhyun’s body tight around him. “Say the words.” 

“I am his,” Baekhyun sobs out. “And he is mine.” 

“More,” Sehun says, pumping his hips as fast as he can, tearing the cries from Baekhyun’s throat as if with his bare hands. “ _More_.” 

“Oh, _lark. Please_.”

“Say it,” Sehun says. 

“I am his,” Baekhyun cries. “And he is mine. I swear it…” 

“Swear,” Sehun moans. 

“I swear it by fire. I swear it by water. I swear it by storm, ice, and stone. I swear it by light. By the winds,” Baekhyun says. 

“You are mine,” Sehun groans. 

“I’m yours,” Baekhyun gasps. 

He’s never been so rough, never been so careless with Baekhyun’s body, but it is boiling hot, the heat rising to the ceiling as he fucks him, keeps him crying out into the dark for more, more, more. 

There are lifelong moments then, moments that you can drown in, and he gives them both to those moments, casts them into fires and crashing waves. 

Sehun drags it out for as long as he can, but there is frustration and anger and forgotten things in his chest, filling him just as he fills Baekhyun, and when it all spills out of him, he comes with a groan that he can’t stop, pulling at Baekhyun’s cock until he follows close behind. He turns away from Baekhyun’s body, a strange feeling welling inside him, and he runs a hand through his hair as he tries to control his breathing, the quick rise and fall of his chest. 

They are vacillating between silence and noise, because they lie in bed facing opposite sides of the room, and Sehun can’t even begin to understand what it means for them. The cold that he feels whenever he looks at Baekhyun. 

“I am a pitiful god,” Baekhyun whispers.

Sehun scoffs, turns. Warmth seeps back through him when he sees Baekhyun turn to face him, tears in his eyes. 

“Don’t speak this way,” Sehun says. “You are the most powerful god there is, and everyone knows it to be true.” 

“Sehun,” Baekhyun says, taking Sehun’s face in his hands. “I’m the worst thing in this world. I’ve never deserved you. Not even a small part of you. I’ve never been worthy of it.” 

Sehun rolls his eyes. 

“If you think you will keep me by spewing heresy against yourself, then you are mistaken,” Sehun says. He gets up out of the bed, walks across the room. Steps back into his robe and works on tying it at the waist. “I won’t listen to this.” 

“Sehun-ah,” Baekhyun says, and his tone makes Sehun look up from his ties. The way Baekhyun stares back, eyes wide, sheets pooled around his waist as he sits in the center of the bed, frightens him. He looks young. So young. 

“What?” 

“You’re the same as me,” Baekhyun says, voice trembling. 

“What do you mean?” Sehun says. "Speak it plainly." 

“If I am a god,” Baekhyun says, “then so, my love, my _larkling_ , are you.” 

Sehun swallows a noise. 

“I’ve filled you too well,” Sehun says. “You can’t think.” 

“If I am your god, then listen,” Baekhyun says, and he kneels up. “You have the power. If you knew how to use it, everyone, all the world….they would call you god as well as me.” 

“I don’t know what you seek to accomplish with this nonsense,” Sehun says, and he finishes his knot, tying it tight, “but it’s lunacy, and I grow weary of it.” 

“Lark. There aren’t eight,” Baekhyun says, and it grabs Sehun by the gut. “There are _nine_.” 

“What are you saying?” Sehun asks, and the panic is rising in him, everything coming together as if pieces of some greater puzzle. He knows. He _knows_ , but he doesn't want to know. “What does this any of this have to do with me?” 

“You must remain calm.” He touches Sehun on the shoulder, holds him steady like Sehun is coming apart at the edges. “Sit. Sit and I’ll tell you everything.” 

_Everything?_ He’s heard him say it before. But Baekhyun only tells him what he wants Sehun to know. Sehun sits on the bed, hands folded. 

“Do you...do you know how old I am?” Baekhyun asks. 

“Not exactly,” Sehun says. 

“I am two hundred and twenty five summers,” Baekhyun says. “They think me immortal. All of us. Chanyeol a-and Jongin and the rest.” 

“Are you?” Sehun asks. 

“I don’t know,” Baekhyun smiles. “But everything I told you...about the orphanage and living amidst the urchins. I’m sorry, larkling, but it was all a lie. We, the eight of us, Minseok, Junmyeon, Yixing, myself, Jongdae, Chanyeol, Kyungsoo, and Jongin...we were raised together. We found our powers together.” 

It is a dagger into his heart. Ice cold water. 

“J-Junmyeon?” 

“Yes,” Baekhyun says. “Junmyeon. Your… _your_ Junmyeon.” 

_No_ , Sehun thinks. _No, no, it can’t be._

“When we were raised, it was by the kindest woman the world’s ever known. She was our mother, perhaps, or maybe she was the Earth herself, come down from the heavens to help us. She raised us, trained us. Told us how to use what we’d been given. And then, and then we were _stolen_ from her.” 

Each of us was taken,” Baekhyun continues, “the eight of us spread far across the globe. And I was brought here. The king of the Bichwood, he heard a prophecy from some old fortune teller. She told him not to take me for she saw the most power within me, but he did not listen, of course. Kings never do. He took me anyway. Wanted to use me.” 

“You’ve lived here your whole life?” Sehun asks. 

“Nearly. I leave sometimes. You know that well enough,” Baekhyun says with a little smile before it fades away. “The men who once took me to their wretched kingdom...they are dead now. Their sons are dead. And their sons are dead too. I killed them all. And I come and go as I please.”

“Why did they...why did they take you?” Sehun asks. 

“They saw me for what I was,” Baekhyun says. “A weapon.” Sehun touches Baekhyun on the cheek, but Baekhyun turns from it. “Once I found the light, once it became mine to do with what I pleased, I stopped aging. Just like that. Like the snap of my fingers.” 

Sehun strokes his hand down to the curve of Baekhyun’s neck. 

“Look at you,” Sehun says. “A flower under glass.” 

Baekhyun shuts his eyes. 

“Don’t treat me kindly,” Baekhyun says. “The only reason I have all this is because I have been cruel.” 

“A child knows no better,” Sehun says. 

“I was no longer a child,” Baekhyun says. “I was angry. And I wanted revenge for what they did to me. But…,” he shakes his head, “this isn’t the point. None of it matters. What matters is that twenty-five summers ago, a babe was born. And the eight of us felt him arrive.” 

Tears flood into Sehun’s eyes, but he keeps quiet, wants to hear it all and hear it from Baekhyun’s mouth. 

“When you were born, we all rushed to find you. We could feel the hints of magic, could feel it moving, but it took years to find you. We searched for years, Sehun-ah. Years,” Baekhyun says. “And it was Junmyeon who found you. And he took you away.” 

Sehun closes his eyes, and the tears drip down his face, but he doesn’t reach up to brush them away. 

He didn’t trust anyone. Not one of us,” Baekhyun continues. “And he kept you hidden. Didn’t let any of us come close to you.” 

“Why not?” He feels the tears fall to his robe. “Why didn’t he let you come for me?” 

“I was...different,” Baekhyun says. “I was a different man. I don’t blame him. He wanted to protect you.” 

Everything he’s ever known has been fabrication. Falsehood after falsehood, and they shatter around him. Broken glass. He steps onto it. 

Sehun looks to his lap, folds his hands as the tears just keep falling. “And what of it? I was an orphan, taken by a god. Why have you brought me here? Why take me?”

“Sehun, I…” and he reaches forward, tries to take Sehun’s hand in his, but Sehun wrenches his hand away. “I’m sorry.” 

“Just tell me why you came,” Sehun says. “Tell me why you’ve brought me here.” 

Baekhyun breathes in, unsteady, and he stares at his own hands. “When I heard you’d be making a pilgrimage to me—” 

“Where did you hear it?” 

Baekhyun’s eyes shoot up. “What?” 

“Where did you hear that I’d be making the pilgrimage to you?” Sehun asks coldly. “Who told you?” Baekhyun shuts his eyes. “Just tell me. Aren’t we past all the lies now?” 

“Chanyeol and I,” Baekhyun says, voice shaking, “we watched you for many years. Had eyes kept on you. If you moved, we saw you go. If you spoke, we heard the words you said.” 

Sehun shuts his eyes. More tears. He tries to be strong. “Why?” he wonders, opening his eyes to see Baekhyun shaking his head. “ _Why_?” 

“I don’t know, my love. Fear?” 

“Fear,” Sehun barks. “Fear of a child?” 

“A child with powers unknowable.”

It still feels impossible, feels untrue. _Let it be anything but this_ , he thinks. _I never asked for this._

“So once I was finally away from home, finally away from Junmyeon’s protection, you took me,” Sehun says. 

“I didn’t take you,” Baekhyun says. “You followed me.” 

“And I would have followed you to my death,” Sehun says. “And I did.” 

“I would have never let you die. I fell in love with you. I never meant to, but it was impossible not to. I loved you from the moment I saw you.” 

“Is this love?” Sehun asks, and he finally brushes away the tears. “Is this truly love?” 

“M-Maybe it didn’t start as pure love,” Baekhyun stutters. “Maybe it was my loneliness, maybe it was your easy affection, I don’t know. I don’t know. But along the way, it was real, and I couldn’t have controlled that. I love you. You must know that my love for you is true.” 

He feels forgotten rage boiling inside him. Things he overlooked. Things he forgave. He walks backwards. Takes it all back. 

“You controlled it all. You used me. You brought me to Jongin and Yixing. You used me to rebuild the bridges you burned. As a way to bring you all back together.” 

“Sehun, I—” 

“And now, now you tell me all along I was same as you?” He cannot control his voice, finds himself spiraling with anger. “That I’m—” 

“That you are imbued with _magic_. The magic of the gales,” Baekhyun says, and he reaches out, tries to take Sehun’s hands between his own. 

Again, Sehun pulls them away. 

“Don’t touch me,” Sehun tells him. “And you called me lark, because—” 

Baekhyun shakes his head. “It was only a pet name,” he says. 

“Is that what I am? A pet? Something you’ve taken from the rest of them? No, this was your way of holding the truth over my head, a...a _perversion_ of your power. I’m just a little bird who doesn’t yet know how to fly, isn’t it right?” 

“No, Sehun, please.” 

“You lied to me,” Sehun says, and he can’t keep the hurt from leaking out into his voice. “You...you kept secrets from me. All this time. Even when you said there were to be no secrets between us.” 

“I had to,” Baekhyun says. “You never would have believed me. You would have called me a liar.” 

“Better to be _called_ a liar than _be_ a liar,” Sehun says, and he struggles to keep his anger contained. “You made me fall in love with you. You made me believe you. Made me trust in you. Then...then I live for a summer as a keeper of your temple. And I was less than you. Even when I was raised high, I was always so much less than you. I struggled with it. You _knew_ I struggled with it. I was in love with you, but you were a god, and I was dust beneath your feet. And now, _now_ you tell me this? That I’m...that you’re…” 

“I know you’re upset, my love, but I gave you as much power as you’d take,” Baekhyun says, brushing the back of his hand along Sehun’s cheek. 

“What, after _Chanyeol_ instructed you to?” 

Baekhyun begins to bristle, Sehun can see it, but Baekhyun swallows it. “You’re so new. I want to teach you, larkling.” 

“Don’t _call me that_.” 

“Sehun, you don’t know how to control it yet. You don’t know how to...” 

“You lie to people,” Sehun says viciously. “That’s all _you_ know how to do.” 

The room goes cold, as if Baekhyun’s shut all the heat off, and it sends a shiver up Sehun’s spine.

“I’ve only told you what was necessary,” Baekhyun says coolly. 

He cannot control himself any longer, raises his voice to a shout. 

“Then what? What is this? Necessary falsehoods? Meant to keep me in the dark while you live in the light?” 

Baekhyun pushes off the bed, walks to the door, his hand poised to push it open. 

“And now you run?” Sehun yells. “Coward.” 

He knows that he has gone too far as soon as the word falls from his lips. 

Baekhyun turns, and for the first time in Baekhyun’s company, Sehun knows fear, knows the true strength of Baekhyun’s power. Magic tricks, fireworks, hovering above the earth. These are small things. Meaningless things. But Baekhyun’s power has always held meaning. The most meaning of all things. 

His eyes go white, and his skin glows like a star. The room shivers as his body turns to beacon, so bright that Sehun has to close his eyes against it. Sehun feels sweat sprout at his brow as the room heats uncomfortably fast, like he stands in the middle of the Red Waste or somewhere impossibly hotter. 

“Coward?” he thunders. “ _Coward_? I was _taken_. Not by some benevolent god, but by cruel, evil men. It was torture. It was pain.” He begins to float, hovering above the ground as he pulses with light. “They _told_ me what I was. What you know me as. They called me god and put a crown of gold on my head. I was held captive for so many years. I’ve never known anything but this, you insolent _child_. And what of you, the god who has no great power? The god who has given no blessings. The god who has done no good. Fought in no great wars. Who has spent his whole life lazing at some farm, watching life pass him by. Watching others _suffer_.” 

This is the fury of the stars, and it rains down over him. He shuts his eyes, lets the tears slip out. 

“But how was I to help? Sehun asks. “How was I to know? I was lied to. I was powerless. I _am_ powerless. How was I...” 

The light dies so fast, it makes Sehun’s eyes ache. This is what Baekhyun is. Light and untenable darkness, the flickering of candlelight. Another one of Baekhyun’s tricks. He is not just light. He is the absence of it too. 

“My love. You couldn’t have known,” and it sounds like a cry. “All I ever wanted was for you to stay with me. Free me from this life of loneliness. I wanted so desperately for you to stay. I’ve never wanted to keep another. I’ve only ever wanted to keep you.” 

“And so you ensured that I would leave,” Sehun says. “One lie after another. You kept weaving them together, confessing to one as you tied its end to another.” 

“Sehun, please, I—” 

“No,” Sehun says, and he feels something so familiar inside of him. “No, not anymore.” 

“I just want to explain.” 

“You’ve explained so much now,” Sehun says. “But I think it’s time I returned home. To where I belong.” 

It shocks him, the feeling that surges through him. He feels it. The wind. From his fingertips, he feels the wind. From his scalp, he feels the wind. From the pit of his stomach, he feels the wind. It’s always been there within him, he realizes. This is who he is. This is who he was born to be. 

To think, he once thought himself weak. 

He takes the power in his hand. He pushes it out. 

Sehun shakes, his whole body trembles, and it comes in waves, great, awful waves that shake the very foundations of the palace. Shake the earth itself. 

With the force of the first wave, the painted glass sun of the window shatters and fall to the floor, glittering even in the darkness. 

With the force of the second, Baekhyun is thrown to the floor, eyes widened with fear. 

And with the force of the third, Sehun is through the window, flying home to Avonrose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [gazing up to the sky] there goes my hero, watch him as he goes 
> 
> so there u have it! book two now complete, book three on the horizon. i do hope you've enjoyed this chapter and the past two books as a whole. it's been a long journey, and im looking forward to you all seeing the final act. 
> 
> warning: sad things upcoming
> 
> as some of you may know, i lost my dog yesterday under very sudden circumstances, and normally i keep a pretty tight lid on these things but im feeling ten kinds of Vulnerable and i kinda just need to say it somewhere. still, i wanted to get this chapter out on time because 1) it's been ready for weeks so there's no real reason to delay it and 2) the sooner i get back into the rhythm of things, the easier it will be. all that being said, please treat me gently in these comments lkjadsjk i know some people might be disappointed with book 2, and that's been a major concern for me the past few weeks, so if you could be generous in your assessments of my admittedly poor offerings, i would be eternally in your debt. 
> 
> as always, thank you so much for wasting your time here with me. telling stories is one of the only things i like doing, so i'm glad i have you to tell them to.
> 
> 3.1 will post june 4th, 3.2 june 11th, and the final chapter on june 18th. one week's break for you all. read some better content in the meantime, and we'll meet back here afterwards, with lighter hearts and more peaceful minds. love you muchly. keep my pup in your thoughts, if you have them to spare. 
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfsupremacist) | [my curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/wolfsupremacist)


	7. book three, chapter one

All he can do is walk. 

He does not know where he is, his surroundings completely foreign to him. He looks in all directions: north, south, east, west. But he sees nothing, nothing for milles. Some shadowy lands to the west at the foot of the Mount. He heads away from that. He needs no more shadows, and he knows that east means home. 

The further and further he moves, the better it becomes. It is a grassy land, the shrubs dull greens and olives, but the climate is cool. Almost chilly. He pulls his robe tighter around his body, swallows down over his shiver. He’s been walking for so long, hasn’t had a proper bath in a sennight at least. 

Not since his flight. 

He found a clear stream a few days back, and he bathed as well as he could there, quenching his thirst for a day or two. He studied the bare bottoms of his feet, beginning to blister, wishing that he’d taken a pair of sandals before he’d left. Hurriedly, he ripped a couple sashes of silk from the bottom of his robe, tying them up around his feet and ankles before he kept moving. 

He sleeps on ground the under the starry skies, purple and blackened blue in this kingdom, wherever he is. It’s quite pretty, and in better circumstances, perhaps he’d be able to appreciate such beauty. 

His stomach aches with hunger, but he keeps walking, hoping to...just hoping that he’ll be able to find something. Anything.  
  


♔

Sometimes, it is hard to fall asleep. He keeps flashing back, candlelight flickering in and out in his head, memories of the past.

He dreams of the things that have transpired, and he dreams of Baekhyun in his arms. He left recklessly, foolishly, and now, he’s in the middle of forever with nowhere to go. No home to return to. 

Junmyeon—could it possibly be true? Did he have the same magic as Baekhyun within him all along? Has anyone ever been completely truthful to him? 

_No_ , he thinks. _I’ve been fooled the entire time. A foolish boy, so easily lied to._

It is often that he finally succumbs to sleep only after the tears have flown from him, finally leaving him truly alone. At least tears are born from truth.  
  


♔

He continues to wander, praying that he’s wandering in a straight line. It’s been another day, and his fingernails are filthy, a foul taste in his mouth. He can only imagine how he smells, how he looks. If he happened upon a river, he might stare into the glassy surface to see his haggard reflection, hair a riotous mess, face smudged with dirt.

He’s beginning to feel hopeless, the pangs of pain through his stomach dejecting, but he has good fortune in happening upon a patch of knotweed. He knows from Junmyeon that it’s safe to eat, so he picks as much as he can before biting in. It tastes of lemon when it hits his tongue, and he can’t pace himself as he feasts. 

Sehun also happens across a small tree bearing fruit, and when he splits one of the little fruits open, it has four small seeds spread across it. He picks the seeds out before lifting the fruit to his nose. It’s almost sickly floral, but he snaps his teeth into the sweet flesh anyway, moaning as he eats. 

Perhaps it isn’t _totally_ hopeless, he thinks. Maybe he will find himself before he finds his way home.  
  


♔

As he rests at night, he tries to fly.

He can’t remember exactly how he did it, the way he harnessed it. He channels emotion, channels as much anger as he can muster within himself. He thinks of what he wanted to say, what he should have said to Baekhyun. He was only a pawn in his plans. A stupid boy who Baekhyun could control, who Baekhyun _used_ at every opportunity. Was he nothing more than that? Was Baekhyun’s love for him ever real? 

Even though he tells himself otherwise, Sehun can’t believe that it was all just a lie. It felt so real. Felt so true. Every night Sehun spent with him felt better than the last. His arms felt like a new home. 

Sehun shakes the thought from his head, and he refocuses, adjusts himself where he’s sitting on the ground. He folds his legs in, and he thinks of all the angriest things, all the meanest worst things in the world. 

In a second, a wind sweeps underneath him, pulls him up from the ground, but in the next, he thinks of Baekhyun’s face and falls, right back where he started.  
  


♔

It is a terrible journey.

Even in the darkest moments of the pilgrimage, he had Baekhyun by his side. Even when all seemed lost, he was with someone he loved. But here, in the middle of the grasslands, he is alone. 

He does not allow himself to think such things often, keeps bullish concentration on the horizon. If he let himself think it, he would feel tears well in his eyes. He would never start moving again. And he’s stronger than all that. He is. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have made it this far. 

He tears the bottom of his robe off, and he ties the silk scrap into a sack, starts to carry his foraged food with him. Sweet berries and wild greens. It all tastes like the bitter earth, but he does not mind. Not one bit.  
  


♔

Slowly, slowly, the earth starts to change, and so too do the trees.

Sehun passes some more small fruit trees, ones with the floral fruits, and he gathers them up in his little knapsack. He smiles, happy to have found something to replenish his stores, and he finds a stream too, which allows him to feign cleanliness. If nothing else, the water feels nice on his skin, and he shuts his eyes, humming pleasantly. 

When he moves away, he sees something terrible. 

It is one of the fruit trees, the leaves charred to nothing. He walks up to it, puts his hand along the bark, but it feels so...so loose. It is with horror that he runs his hands to the top of the tree, petting along the soft bark, and slowly, he is able to peel the bark from the tree as if he was peeling the skin from a banana. 

His eyes grow wide as it reveals the burned, blackened interior, eaten away by fires. 

It is then that he realizes his danger. Where he is.

He is in the middle of the lightning lands, where the storms are ceaseless. 

But he has come too far to turn back now. He must keep moving.  
  


♔

It is a few days more of walking before he sees civilization in the distance, and his heart leaps in his chest, thumps wildly, and if he were better rested, he believes he would take to a run.

It took longer than he thought it would, but he’s tried to keep his legs moving despite it all. Now… _now_ there is something to look to. Now there is something to strive for. Something tangible, something to throw his red rope around so he might pull himself forward.

Just as he thinks it, he hears a rumbling overhead, and as he looks up, the sky opens above him, gentle rains falling. But the gentleness isn’t to stay, for Sehun sees the crackling red light in the clouds. 

He feels the shiver along his skin, the electricity shocking its way through the air, and the hair on his arms stands on end, the silk of his robe going staticky, sticking to his skin. 

Sehun drops his knapsack to the ground, and he bolts just as the first strike hits, so close that he can feel the heat of it move through his feet, through the soil. 

He runs, and his feet ache but the strikes come closer and closer to him, practically nipping at his heels, so he cannot stop running. He leans forward, sprints, pushes himself with all his might, and he hears the terrible thunder crackling above him, and he braces, hopes to escape alive, and just as he’s about to take another step, a bolt of purpled light strikes from the sky directly in front of him, shocking a scream from his chest as he skids to a halt. 

Sehun jumps to the side as the strikes pick up, flashing the night bright like the day around him, and he cries, the terror thickening his blood, and he feels the frightened tears stream down his face as he runs, eyes cloudy as he tries to control himself, tries to stop himself from crying out into the cold, bleak storm. 

The lights are so bright, so warm and bright, and he shuts his eyes as he runs, the tears falling from his face, and he wishes, desperately wishes that there were someone beside him, someone to be here if he was to die. 

Without another thought, he has lifted off the ground, and he is flying through the air, dodging between the constant strikes of lightning, blooming endlessly like blades of grass. And then, he falls from the sky, lands in a sort of ditch, hollowed out in the earth, and he holds his head between his hands as the storm rages on through the night.  
  


♔

_Stones stacked upon stones. That is what he sees. Eight in number, and they are large, strong, but the weight of them upon one another makes them start to slip, fall from their place. He watches, frozen, stuck to the ground, unable to move. And he tries, tries desperately to move as they begin to tumble. It is a feeling of great distress that fills his stomach, and he wants to reach out, hold them together with his hands until there is no collapse, until they can’t fall._

_Golden light splits the sky open, cracks it, fractures it, and from the sky, a stone falls, locks them all into place. The keystone in the arch of nine._  
  


♔

When he finally awakens, the storm is over.

He wipes the vestiges of his tears away from his face, brushes the dirt away from him, and moves as fast as he can. 

It is another two days of walking, and he gets closer and closer. He learns to anticipate the storms by the way the clouds shift above him, and he gives them a wide berth as he avoids them. At least he’s learned. At least he’s gained something from all this. 

When he finally approaches the bounds of the city, he is amazed at how pristine it all looks. He didn’t know what he assumed it would be. Perhaps some charring along the stones, some ash where things once stood. But the city looks beautiful, dark grey stones making all the buildings. There are supremely tall, beautiful wrought-iron structures along the edges of the city, poles that stretch to the sky, higher than anything else. 

There is an artistry to the vanes, the metal swirled and stylized, and Sehun passes them by, staring with awe. 

It’s then that he notices that everything in the city is especially close to the ground, the buildings all one story. As he starts to walk through the city, the people are all _short_ , pretty but very small, and they look at him strangely as he travels through. 

He realizes slowly, passing a mirror surface that it’s got nothing to do with his height, and everything to do with his haggard appearance. He is filthy, streaked with dirt. His robe is torn inelegantly, and the hem that used to drag along the ground now rests just under his knees. His feet are covered with muddy silk. He has never looked worse, and the townsfolk, soft skin and dressed for the chilly air in their light wool jackets, observe him as if he is a plague. 

Sehun supposes he can’t exactly blame them. But still... 

Most of the people all avoid his eye, but he finds one woman who watches him with a raised brow, as if she finds it all quite funny. She’s leaning against the stone wall of some establishment, and she studies him. 

She wears her hair in a bun on top of her head, pulled tight and severe, but a fringe of hair covering her forehead softens the effect. She is exceptionally pretty, even among the crowd of pretty people. Nothing could dim her beauty, he thinks. Her black hair, her dark chocolate brown eyes. The hint of smudged eyeliner, her lips painted a rusty red color. He is intimidated by her, but he has no better choice, so he swallows thickly and steps forward. 

He walks up to her, and when he does so, she takes one giant step back, smirking. 

“Excuse me,” Sehun says, and he bows. “Well met.” 

“Pity I can’t say the same,” she snorts. 

He stands, biting across a smile. “I know I appear—” 

“As if you’ve just crawled from a pig pen, yes.” 

“Y-Yes,” Sehun says, and he holds his hands very carefully in front of himself. “Yes, I apologize. It has been a long journey, I’m afraid.” 

“That’s plain to see.” 

He frowns. “I’m sorry. If I’m taking too much of your time, I…” 

“I didn’t say that,” she says, and she scratches at her scalp. “What can I do for you, weary traveler?” 

“I’m afraid I’ve no gold,” Sehun says. “I left in...in a hurry.” 

“I’ve never left in such a hurry that I’ve forgotten my purse.” 

“Yes, well, you’re much smarter than me, aren’t you?” Sehun says, and immediately, he wants to retract it. “I’m sorry, I—” 

“No, no,” she laughs. “It’s alright, I was only playing with you. Where are you from?” 

“Um,” Sehun falters. “From the Bichwood?” 

Her eyes widen, and she studies him closer, gaze raking over his tattered robes. “You don’t look as if you’re from the Bichwood.” 

“No, I’ve…it’s very complicated,” Sehun says. “Have you heard of the God of Light?” 

She scoffs, and she leans back against the stone wall. “Course I have. Do you think I’m dumb?” 

“No, no, it’s just...you see, I was the Favored,” Sehun tells her. 

Her expression changes immediately, but not in the way that Sehun had anticipated. Her brow furrows in disbelief for a second, a second more, and then she laughs in his face. 

“You’re not the Favored,” she says. 

“I was,” Sehun argues. 

“No, you weren’t.” 

He raises his voice a bit. “ _Yes_ , I was.” 

“Look at you,” she says, and she gestures to his appearance. “The Favored is beautiful beyond compare.” 

“I am beautiful,” Sehun argues. 

“No,” she smiles. “You aren’t.” 

“If you’ll lend me a few pieces so that I might bathe and get a new robe, a pair of shoes,” he says, “I’ll show you. And I promise, upon my heart and soul, the gold will be repaid tenfold.” 

She smiles at him, eyes skimming over him as she looks him up and down. “Alright then, Favored.” And she nods towards the doors of the building. “Go inside, tell them Seulgi is covering one of the lavender baths.” 

“Seulgi?” he asks. 

“The lady stood before you, foolish boy,” she grins. “And if you _are_ who you _say_ you are, then I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord.” She goes to shakes his hand, but quickly, she pulls it back with a giggle. “Ah. Perhaps once you’re clean.” 

“Oh, shut up,” he says, and her laughter erupts. 

“Go, go,” Seulgi says, and she nods again towards the bathhouse. “I’ll fetch you something suitable to wear.” 

So Sehun does what she says, walks through the doors, and tells the girl working the desk that his lavender bath is complimentary from Seulgi.  
  


♔

The warm purple water envelops him, and he breathes deeply, breathes in the steam rising from the bath. It fills his lungs, smells like sleep, and his shoulders roll back, relaxed. It has been quite some time since such a bath. Maybe a fortnight? He has no idea how long he was wandering. The days and nights started to bleed together.

He washes well, scrubs his skin clean, keeps draining and refilling the bath until the waters stay pristinely purple, all the filth washed away. The bathhouse is very nice, and once he pats himself dry with one of the towels laid along the bench, he goes to the basket of lotions, runs his fingers over them until he finds a vanilla scented one. 

He labors over softening his skin, rubbing the lotion into himself with his thumbs and palms, and when he looks in the floor-length mirror, the towel wrapped around his waist, he runs his fingers through his hair, brushes it back from his face. It’s getting long now. 

Just then, he hears a knock on the door, and he turns. 

“Come in,” he says. 

Seulgi enters, a flat pack of something wrapped up in paper in her arms. 

“Huh,” she says, eyes glazing over him. “Well, you are pretty.” 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“I don’t know if you’re _Favored_ pretty,” and she sets the pack down on another bench, tearing into the paper. “But if you aren’t, then I’ll consider this my good works for the year.” 

He snorts, goes close to her. She’s bought him a cotton chemise, a thin wool jacket, a pair of pants, some socks, and there at the bottom, a cheap pair of lacing leather shoes. 

“Thank you,” Sehun says, and he bows deeply, his body folded in half. “You don’t know how grateful I am to you, madam.” 

“I’m sure I have a vague idea. And if you’re grateful, you’ll refrain from calling me madam ever again,” she says, and when he stands, she’s wearing a smile. 

“How should I refer to you, then?” Sehun asks. “You’ve—”

“Seulgi will suffice.” 

“But—” 

“Oh heavens,” she says, throwing up her hands. “Miss, then.” 

“Alright then, miss,” he says, hiding his smile. 

“I’ll leave you to it. Get dressed, Favored, and I’ll take you for a drink. A meal, if you’re lucky.” 

Sehun lets his smile grow, his faith restored. He will certainly make it home, thanks to the kindness of strangers.  
  


♔

They eat blackened fish, and Seulgi pulls the spine from his fish, showing him how.

“If you don’t get it all in one go,” she says, disposing of it on the side of the dish, “then you’ll be swallowing spines.” 

Sehun shivers, thinking about the thin bones stuck in his throat. “Thank you.” He pushes the bones a little farther away from him. “What would I do without you?” 

“You’d probably still be wandering through town,” Seulgi says, flaking a piece of fish away and lifting it to her mouth. “Making everyone bar their doors.” 

“I wasn’t _that_ bad.” 

“You _were_.”

“I _wasn’t_.” 

Seulgi reaches over, slides his plate away. “You _were_ , and if you keep arguing, you’ll get no food from me. Want to go back to eating grass, O Favored One?” 

Sehun grimaces. “It wasn’t grass.” 

“Sweetgrass still has grass in the _name_ , darling.” 

She shoves her shoulder into his, and he shoulders her back, gently. She slides his plate back, and he attempts to keep himself slow. Yixing told him it was bad to gorge yourself after starving, that it’s a quick way to make yourself sick. But the fish looks so good, _smells_ so good, like paprika and cayenne and smoke. 

Beside it rest wedges of lemon, and he squeezes them over his plate, a mix of rice and beans next to a thick flatbread made from cassava. He takes a bite of the fish, and he tries to remember Yixing’s words. He moans as it melts on his tongue. Has anything ever tasted better? 

“Good, isn’t it?” Seulgi says. 

“Leave me alone, I’m quite busy.” 

She laughs, shoves him again, and she shoves her back. An easy friendship.  
  


♔

He refills her glass with yellowy white wine, and she watches him, her chin in her hands.

“Tell me something that no one else would know about him,” she says, like it’s a test. 

“He’s been alive for two centuries,” Sehun scoffs with a smile. “Everything there is to know about him, people already know.” 

She laughs, shakes her fringe out of her eyes. “Aren’t the gods fond of their secrets? You must know a couple.” 

The smile fades quickly from his face, and he grabs his glass, tips it back. It tastes sweet, like figs. Melons. But there’s something underneath it all, like minerals, swishing on his tongue. 

“Sorry,” she says, “if I’ve struck a nerve.” 

“No, there’s no need for apology,” Sehun says. “But you’re right. They are quite fond of their secrets. I do have one. Only a few people in the world know it.” 

Seulgi leans in closer, the pretty grin on her face brightening. “Tell me, then.” 

“You know of the war?” 

Seulgi leans back, rolls her eyes. They’ve had two glasses a piece now and her expressions have gone loose. “Yes, Favored, I know of the war.” She balls her hand into a fist, punches at his shoulder. “Tell me the secrets.” 

“You know how they tell stories of the God of Inferno burning the place to hell? The way he burned the Angels in the courtyards? Killed them all?” 

“Yes.” 

“It never happened,” Sehun says, and he holds his hands up. “A pretty good secret, isn’t it?” 

She doesn’t give him the reaction he desires which he’s beginning to feel is a hallmark of their tenuous friendship. Instead of shock and awe, her face contorts with confusion, brow furrowed. 

“But how could that be? There were so many reports, the plays, the paintings, and the fucking songs…”

“The Leaper,” Sehun says. “He moved them all.” 

“Moved them _where_?” she asks. 

“The hidden kingdom,” he smiles. “Gochidana. We went there, saw them all. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before.” 

“You’ve _been_ there?” He nods. “Then why are we talking about the fucking _war_? Tell me everything, you fool. What was it like? What did they look like? What was the forest like? What do they eat? And drink? Is it beautiful? It must be beautiful.” 

He spends the rest of the evening regaling her with tales of Gochidana, recalls all the people he met, the food he ate, the wines he drank. He tells her of their customs, of the magic of the forest, how it seals behind you. She is enraptured as he speaks, and more than any wine, that provides him a drunken high that keeps him smiling throughout. 

At the end of the night, when the taverns are meant to close, Seulgi brings him to the inn, pays for his room, and tells him to rest well. 

“I’ll find you in the morning,” she says. “I’ll put you to work.” 

It’s been a while, but he thinks he can handle it.  
  


♔

Thunder’s Shadow is a city that grows each year, growing in strength and size, and the inn is at the very center, right next to a worship temple for Jongdae. Before Seulgi comes to fetch him, before the sun has even risen, he wanders over simply to satiate his curiosity.

The temple is made from a slick black stone, and when Sehun walks inside, it is dark, unpopulated. There is a small lit candle at the head of the temple, and he takes it, begins to light the rest of the candles until the place is bright with light. He walks down the center of the temple, and on either side of him, there are dozens of benches. At the head of the temple, there is a large triptych. 

Sehun approaches it, drawn in by it. It looks black as night, but as he gets closer, the candle in his hand, he starts to notice all the many colors tangled in storm clouds. Purples and blues, yellows and reds. They’re dark, darkened with the tempest, but it is so beautiful that it makes Sehun’s heart clench in his chest. 

If he had a purse, he would throw a couple gold pieces to the donation basket, but since he is without his purse, he merely bows his head, hoping that alone will earn him favor here too.  
  


♔

“Do you mind cleaning?” Seulgi asks, handing him a bucket as she takes his wool jacket. She warned him he wouldn’t be needing it.

“No,” Sehun smiles. “I like to clean, I think.” 

“You _think_. You better hope,” she snorts, pushing him with a hand at the square of his back, directing him through the house. “We’ll need the main room cleaned before everyone starts arriving, about one hour. It’s not complicated work, of course, just a bit tedious.” 

He hopes it isn’t too large, because if it’s a one person job, he might not ever finish if the bath is the size of the main bath at the Bichwood. 

“I can do it.” 

She cocks an eyebrow at him, a hand on her hip. 

“Are you asking or telling me?” 

“Telling,” Sehun smiles. 

“Good,” she smiles back. 

They round the corner, and suddenly, they are in the main room. And it’s large, but not so large as the Bichwood’s, not even close. He breathes out, relieved, swinging his bucket a little. 

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” she says. “Remember. One hour.” 

She turns and leaves him to his work, and immediately, he jumps into action. 

He grabs the brush from the bottom of his bucket before filling it with water and soap. He falls back into old habits, not thinking of much else besides scrubbing the stone tiles clean. It’s calming as his mind goes blank with the repetition, and he works quickly, section by section, until the stones shine. He scrubs the floors on his hands and knees, and he sings the little songs that Taeil used to sing. He misses Taeil. Wonders what he’s doing. Hopefully he’s still working on the library. He’ll have to send a letter when he gets the chance. Ask forgiveness for leaving without much notice.

After he’s finished, he rinses the soaps away, lets the suds swirl down the drains before plugging them, filling the baths with warm water, the steams rising as the waterline creeps higher and higher to where it’s supposed to be. 

“Oh.” 

He whips around, sees Seulgi standing there wearing a face he’s never seen her make before. 

“I-Is it satisfactory?” Sehun asks. 

“Satisfactory…,” she says, and she walks over to the closest stone wall of the pool, and, crouching down, she runs her finger along the clean, slick surface until it makes a squeaking sound. She stands back up to her full height, and she walks back to him, poking a finger in his chest. “Is this some sort of joke?” 

A chill runs up his back. He thought he did a passable job. At the very least, this was something he knew how to do. How could he have fouled it up? 

“A joke?” 

“You’ve done an excellent job,” she says, brows furrowed. “What kind of favored boy are you?” 

He breathes out heavily, relieved, and he smiles brightly. 

“One who’s cleaned before,” he says. 

She narrows her eyes again, studying him. “Alright. I suppose you’ve done as I asked, and you’ve done it well. If you clean a few of the private rooms, I’ll buy you breakfast and another night at the inn.” 

He smiles, grabs his bucket. 

“Just point me in the right direction, miss.”  
  


♔

He isn’t making any money at first, just barely repaying his debt to Seulgi with his work. Eventually, after a sennight or two, he starts taking more responsibilities. Cleaning of the main room and several private rooms, working the desk as people come in, asking for tokens for various kinds of baths. There is an intricate system, and it takes him a few days to understand it all, but she is helpful, encouraging.

At night, he runs her errands for her, picking up salts and soaks from the soapmaker across town. He carries all the goods back in a little basket, and eventually, the people in town start to warm to him, even going so far as to wave at him. He smiles as he waves back, and slowly, he feels like himself again. 

Seulgi sits at the tavern table, her book laid between them, checking off inventory needs as Sehun makes mental notes. 

“A dozen lavender, two dozen rose, a dozen citrus and eucalyptus,” she recites. 

“A dozen lavender, two dozen rose, a dozen citrus and eucalyptus,” he repeats. 

“Good boy.” 

Sehun smiles, sits up a little straighter before laying his head on her shoulder. “Thank you. For everything.” 

“You don’t need to thank me every sun,” she says. 

“Of course I do. Day after day you’ve helped me. Provided for me when I couldn’t provide for myself. Aided me because you wanted to do what was right.” 

“No, I aided you for the gold at the end of it all,” she says, and she closes her book, nudging her leg into Sehun’s under the table. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about that?” 

“No,” he smiles. “No, I haven’t.” 

“Good,” Seulgi says, and she folds her hands over the book. “Don’t forget.” 

“I won’t.” 

Seulgi looks up, listening to the tolling of the bells. 

“Aren’t you due at the soapmaker’s?” she asks. 

“Oh,” Sehun says, and he hurriedly stands from the table, bowing to her quickly. “Miss.” 

He hears her laugh as he runs from the tavern, sprinting quickly to the soapmaker’s before they close their doors for the evening.  
  


♔

At the end of the sennight, Seulgi gathers up the staff and gives them their payment. Sehun stands in the back, hands folded, head bowed. He does not expect to hear his own name called as the staff-members are dismissed for the evening, one by one. Then, when he is the only one left, Seulgi calls his name, and he steps forward.

She smiles at him, reaches back to the desk behind her. Pulls a small purse with a couple pieces of gold inside. 

“I can’t,” Sehun says. “You’ve already—”

“Take the gold,” she says, and she shoves it into his hands. “Even with the room and board, you’ve still earned that. So it’s yours, alright? Don’t argue with me.”

“Or what?” 

“Or else I’ll take it back,” she says. “And then how are you going to afford paying for my wine tonight?” 

Sehun rolls his eyes, throws his arms around her, crushing her in a hug. 

It’s quiet for a moment, a comfort he hasn’t known in a while now, but then Seulgi speaks once more. 

“You’ve got to make it home, right? So save it,” she says. “The way I see it, it’ll only be a month before you save enough to take you from Thunder’s Shadow to Flemgrave. And once you get there, I know the girl who owns the bath there. I’ll write her. Let her know you’re coming. And you can work there until you can cross back to Mulvilla.”

“Seulgi, I—” 

“Just remember me when you get back. Write me. Let me know you’ve arrived home safely.” 

Sehun closes his eyes, rests his chin on her head gently, savors the feeling of being cared for. 

But Seulgi pats him across the back, pulls back out of the embrace with a smile. “Come,” she says, and she pulls him by the hand. “I wasn’t joking about that wine. We’re in need of a drink. It’s been a long sennight.”  
  


♔

Seulgi is drunker than he’s ever seen her, and Sehun’s had the same amount of wine but does not see the same effects. He’s certainly developed a tolerance recently, so he keeps an eye on Seulgi as she speaks about a woman she loves. Sehun listens raptly, feels himself near tears as she talks about her long dark hair, her red lips, the way she laughed. He’s never seen someone besides himself so sick with love.

Perhaps it is nasty to say, but he’s glad. It’s so much easier to handle when you aren’t alone. 

She sips at her wine, narrows her eyes. “What about you?” she asks. 

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” 

“I—” 

“Why are you here?” she asks. “Why did you leave?” 

He takes another sip of his wine. “It’s complicated.” He sets the glass back down, gently, gently. 

“It’s all complicated,” Seulgi says. “Everything we do is complicated, and there’s no bit that’s simple. The way we feel, the way we speak to each other. It’s tangled up in knots. The only thing that’s simple in this world is the truth. So speak truly.” 

He looks around the tavern, stares at some of the other patrons. They’re drinking happily, laughing. There is a bard in the corner of the room, singing songs for gold, and for a moment, he is transported back, back to his pilgrimage. How simple it all was. How true. He wants to go back to that time, back to when he was not special and everything was plain. 

But he cannot go back. There is no going back. He was living within a false world. And now, finally he has moved into something real. 

“I have power,” Sehun confesses. 

“Power?” 

“The power of winds.” 

She furrows her brow, confused, and she slides to the table, laying on her arm. “How do you mean? Like…,” and she wiggles her fingers in front of her face, “ _power_?” 

He snorts. “I suppose.” 

Seulgi smiles, reaches out with a balled fist to punch at Sehun’s forearm. 

“Let’s see it then. Show me the winds.” 

Sehun supposes it won’t hurt to try, no matter how many times he’s failed on his own. He tries to find what he found in Baekhyun’s bed. Tries to fake it, the swirling gales within himself. He huffs, frustrated, tries once more. There is nothing there inside him. He is empty. Powerless. 

Tears start to build in his eyes, so he squeezes them shut, ignores it. Refocuses. Find it. Push against it. He can’t find it, so there’s nothing to push against. 

“Sehun-ah,” she says, “it’s alright.” 

“It isn’t,” Sehun says. “I’ve got to find it. If not, then I’ve left for nothing.” 

She doesn’t question him, just watches him struggle for a few moments more before taking his hands, making him open his eyes in shock. 

“Just because you aren’t doing it in the moment doesn’t mean you can’t,” she says. She squeezes his hands in hers. “A painter’s still a painter even when she’s not painting. A writer’s still a writer even when she’s not writing. If the power resides inside you, it does not matter one bit if you can show it to me. It still exists, even if no one can see it but you. Even if you yourself can’t see it.” She smiles. “It’s just hidden at the moment.” 

“How do you know?” he asks. “W-What if it was just a fluke?” 

“It wasn’t. Nothing so special is ever a fluke.” 

They go quiet, and he watches her shut her eyes. She is exceptionally pretty as she rests, and he reaches out, pushes the hair from her eyes. 

“You remind me of my brother,” Seulgi says. “I haven’t seen him in a while. I miss him.” 

“He misses you,” Sehun says. 

Seulgi opens her eyes, smiles at him. “How do you know?” 

“How could anyone not miss you? You’re so very easy to miss.” 

Sehun carries her back to her bed on his back, tucks her underneath her covers. He blows the lights out, smiles to himself. God of wind. That’s who he is. 

When he gets back to his room, he takes the purse of gold from his pocket, a few pieces lighter than it started, and he pours the rest out into his hands. Seulgi was right. Within the month, he’ll have enough to make it comfortably to Flemgrave. Within a fortnight, he’ll have enough to make it there uncomfortably. 

He strips himself of his clothes, and he gets into bed. He wishes for dreamless sleep, but he knows that memories will float past him, plague him, make him think of Baekhyun and not of home. 

Home has always been people, but how can you have a home in someone who hides?  
  


♔

Sehun works furiously over the next fortnight, and thanks to Seulgi, he saves prudently. He goes through the town, figuring how much gold he’ll need in order to leave. Every day, he gets closer and closer to his goal, the gold stacking, and by the third sennight, he’s got plenty. He buys a pack from a leather worker, and he fills it with everything he’ll need for the journey. It’d be a sennight on horse, a fortnight at least on foot. But he’s gotten good at walking long distances. Maybe he could cut that. Maybe, if he kept a good pace.

On the day he’s to leave, Seulgi shoves an extra bag into his arms. 

“W-What’s all this?” Sehun laughs. 

“Soap,” Seulgi says. “And other provisions I’m sure you’re too much a fool to have thought of. There are plenty of small streams along the way, so make sure to _bathe well_. Stay out of the thunderstorms. You can see them coming if you keep your eyes up.” Sehun laughs, and she smacks him on the shoulder. “Do you want to get to Flemgrave looking as terrible as you did when you arrived here?” 

Sehun digs his toe into the dirt, staring at their feet. “It all ended up alright here, didn’t it?” He looks up, smiles at her. 

“Oh, don’t you—,” and she reaches forward to smack him on the shoulder harder than before. “You’re alive because of me.”

“Yes,” Sehun says, and without another moment’s hesitation, he bows deeply before her. “I will not forget the kindness you’ve shown me, miss.” 

He stands back up straight, and she crosses her arms, eyes misted. 

“Yes, well, I’m a very good person.” 

“A very good person, indeed.” 

In an uncharacteristically haphazard movement of her limbs, Seulgi leaps forward, tangling her arms around his neck, pulling him down into an embrace. He bends over with a laugh, and he drops his bags to the ground, hugging her close around the waist. They stand there longer than is strictly necessary, but over the course of the month, he has grown especially fond of her, and she—she is much more fond of him than she’d ever say. 

“Okay,” she says, and she rubs the back of her hand across her nose when she pulls back. “Get out of her. The lady of the bath will be expecting you in a fortnight’s time, so if you don’t arrive before then, she’ll send me a letter. Let me know you’ve died along the way.” 

Sehun rolls his eyes as he picks up his bag, slinging them both over his shoulders. It’s not so heavy, not as heavy as it was throughout the pilgrimage.  
  


♔

Now that he’s seen the worst of The Flats, the spontaneous thunderstorms and the clouds that seemingly roll in from nowhere, it isn’t so terrible, the walking. In fact, it’s quite calming.

He takes Seulgi’s advice, walks from small stream to small stream, keeping his eyes upwards as . He fills his waterskin at every opportunity, and he washes with the sweet-smelling soaps. The clothes Seulgi purchased for him serve him well, strong and tough and warm, and he washes those too. 

Food is easy to come by, wild mushrooms, grasses, and nuts, and he packed plenty of dried meats and fruits, and flatbreads with nigella and sesame seeds. He has better things, small things that make the first sennight a joy: blueberry and strawberry candies, soft cheese braids, and a loaf of leavened bread that keeps him fed for three days alone. 

Occasionally, he’ll see the blooming purple clouds in the sky, striking within the clouds, and he’ll adjust his path, walking as far as he needs to avoid the storms. Sometimes, he isn’t sure if he’s getting any closer to Flemgrave, scanning the horizon for a sign of anything besides the long, flat lands, but he does not allow himself to focus on the destination for long. Only the journey.  
  


♔

At night, he lies back against soft patches of land, head in the grass, turning back onto his side, and he thinks about Baekhyun. He wishes he wasn’t so—so foolish, so hung up. He wonders if Baekhyun thinks of him, wonders if Baekhyun’s thoughts are plagued with visions of him the way Sehun’s thoughts are plagued with visions of Baekhyun.

Has Baekhyun started looking for him? Has he sent men to search every terrible land for just a scrap of him? Does Sehun _want_ him to look for him? Does he _want_ to return? 

Sehun cannot even begin to sift through his emotions. They’re too plentiful, too tangled. Love is a web, sticky-sweet, and he thought he’d cut himself loose of it. But is it so simple? Baekhyun is embedded within him now. Tucked into him. It’s hard to tell, what parts of him are true and what parts were crafted by Baekhyun’s hand. 

He stares at millions of stars, peering through the clear dark to their bright light, and he is reminded of Baekhyun. How can you escape the light when not even night can erase it?  
  


♔

While he is walking, there is not much to do besides think, and he doesn’t much like the thinking he does along the road. He is turning bitter under the autumn sun, and he resists, fights against it as much as he can.

Instead, he constantly searches himself for the winds. 

He doesn’t know where to go, doesn’t know where to find it. 

Maybe Baekhyun was telling him the truth. Maybe Sehun isn’t strong enough yet. Maybe he needs the training.

He kicks his shoes along the dirt, hikes up the pack on his back as he walks. He doesn’t care. He’ll find it on his own.  
  


♔

Nearing the end of his journey to Flemgrave, he’s run through his sweets, but still has plenty of provisions to keep him. He’s comfortable now, traveling, the feeling completely familiar, comforting.

When he sees the spot of Flemgrave on the horizon, sees it spread, he picks up his pace, eager to burst into the city. Despite this eagerness, it falls surrounded by storm clouds, and so Sehun is forced to camp outside the boundaries of the city for a couple suns until the rains and lightning strikes pass them by. 

Flemgrave is imposing, huge, the dark walls of the city looming, and Sehun watches as the storms fall. 

After the purple clouds have gone, Sehun approaches, trudging through the soft, wet earth that the rains left behind. He passes the guards as he walks through the tall, slick black stone gates, and he begins to look for the bathhouse. 

The roads of Flemgrave are cobbled, and all the buildings are made of the same slick black stone he remembers from the temple in Thunder’s Shadow. It’s a strangely non-slippery stone, even underfoot, despite its appearance, but it gives the town a ghostly air, something haunting and strange smoking like ancient ruins. 

There are merchants, hearkening him in, and they’ve got carts of potions and elixirs, baubles and fripperies. He bypasses them all, not wanting to get caught up in conversation with someone who only wants to sell him frivolous things he doesn’t need. 

Curiously, there aren’t any people on the long street leading inside the city beside the merchants, so Sehun adjusts his hold on his bags, pulls them higher on his back, and turns round the corner, hoping to find the baths or, at the very least, find someone who knows the way. 

But the next thing he knows, he is being hit over the back of the head, falling into strong arms as his body goes immediately weak. He clings to consciousness the way a babe clings to its mother, but he loses his grip, falls straight to sleep.  
  


♔

When he wakes, he immediately begins to panic. He is in an unfamiliar room, the same slick black stone that Sehun’s come to associate with The Flats. There is nothing in the room, nothing save for a washbowl in the corner. No windows, and only one door. He gets to his feet, head aching, and he feels a bit of dried blood at the back of his scalp. He scratches it away as he walks to the door, pulling the handle only to find it locked.

It is a thick wooden door, one with no slats to see through, and he gets to the ground, spies along the crack of space between the stone floor and the wood of the door. All he can see is firelight, nothing besides. 

How long was he asleep? How long has he been here? Who brought him here, and why? 

He bangs on the door with one fist and then two, the anxiety rising within him as time floats by him. 

“Help!” he shouts. “Help me, I swear I’m not who you think I am!” 

Sehun continues to bang wildly on the door, screaming and shouting all that comes to mind. Within him, he feels a surging power, some fleeting remembrance of the way he felt before his flight, and he takes it within his hands with a surprised laugh in his mouth. 

It is bracing like cool winds, simmering along the insides of him like hot steam on glass, and he feels it building from his fucking toes. Building, swirling like dust along the stone floor. 

He stands back from the door, focuses his energy on the door. _I must go_ , he thinks. _Let me go._

The door buckles from the hinges with the gust of one thousand winds, flies across the hall and shatters into shards of splintered wood, and then, there is great commotion. 

Hurriedly, Sehun runs through the empty hall, looking over his shoulder only once to confirm that there are two large men chasing after him. He turns back around, sprints with all his might through the black halls, dutifully ignoring their shouts for him to stop. 

He does not stop, does not slow, only picks up his pace as he frantically tries to navigate through the winding halls of...of _wherever_ he is, and when he finds steps leading up, he takes the stairs two at a time as the staircase spirals up and up. He is huffing breath when he reaches the top, sucking down air as he tries to put more and more distance between he and the guards, but he skids to a stop once he realizes where he is. 

The throne room is open, with large windows at both the north and south, wrought iron splitting them into three sections each. It is dark outside, a thick purple cloud of lightning striking and lighting the room. There is a door on the opposite side of the room, the same heavy dark wood Sehun knows from the room he was being held in. 

The throne itself, raised on the dais, is large, dark, imposing. The seat is a dark purple velvet, cushioned and embroidered with silver. Along the back of the throne are spires of the slick black stone, filed to sharp points. The tips are decorated with the largest diamonds Sehun’s ever seen, all the facets shined, as clear as glass. 

There is no one sitting on the throne, not so late, and Sehun has taken too long to learn of his surroundings, and from behind, he is grabbed by the two guards, sucking wind as if they haven’t run so much in years. 

“Help!” Sehun screams. “Help me!” 

“Keep your voice down,” the guard shouts, and he raises his hand as if he means to punch Sehun in the mouth, bloody his lip, perhaps knock him to the ground, 

Just as Sehun is bracing himself for the blow, the door on the opposite side of the room flies open, and everyone’s attention is grabbed within a small, tight fist. 

Jongdae is beautiful, his blue-black hair on the longer side, brushed away from his face. He is short in stature, and the similarity in height shocks Sehun’s heart. He wears all black, black pants and a black wool coat over a black chemise, and the only hint of color is a long sash purple at his waist, tied in a simple knot. He wears tall laced boots, and when he clicks his heels together, the guards mimic him, drop Sehun from their grasp. 

“Stand back, you fools,” Jongdae commands, and the guards have fallen silent, stepping back from Sehun like browbeaten dogs. “Come.” And immediately, they flock to his side, flanked at his back.

Jongdae stares at him, eyes so dark that Sehun can’t even tell the color. Sehun stares back, fiddling with his hands before he realizes he’s forgotten the appropriate manners. 

He bows deeply before the lightning god, and then, Jongdae snorts. 

“Rise,” he says, and Sehun obeys him. 

Jongdae steps forward, the raised heel of his boots clicking against the stone floor, and he circles Sehun, studying him. Sehun stays perfectly still, does not say a word, barely even breathes as he walks around him before pausing directly in front of him. 

“My, my,” Jongdae says, smiling devilishly. “What have we here?” 

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Sehun says, and he gets to his knees. “I’m only trying to return home. I-I don’t know what I’ve done, or why I was brought here, but you must believe me. I was only trying to return home.” 

“Oh, I know where you’re going.” He laughs, and he steps with purpose as he circles Sehun again, moving the way a predator might. “I know exactly where you’re going because I know exactly _who_ you are.”

“W-Who—”

“Didn’t that great fool in the Bichwood ever explain it to you? We can feel each other,” Jongdae says. “I can feel the magic coursing through you. We’ve got a thrall about us, something that draws people in like moths to flames. People can’t resist us. They’re blinded by the thrall.

Sehun looks down to his shoes, thinks of Seulgi. Is that the only reason she aided him? Blinded by the thrall? 

"None of it matters, of course,” Jongdae continues. “You’ve been making your way to Avonrose with haste ever since you landed at the edge of my kingdom, fallen from the sky like a little star. And I’ve been trying to get my hands on you for a month now, for you are Oh Sehun, the god of wind, and you are the ward of my lover.” 

Sehun looks up at him, shocked. 

“Well,” Jongdae corrects with a tilt of his head, “ _ex_ -lover.” 

Sehun continues to stare at him, completely bewildered. 

“Don’t look so surprised. The eight of us have lived so many years, and you’ve been alive for such a small fraction of it.” 

He looks back down to the floor. “Yes, my lord.” 

Jongdae snorts. “Get up.” And he kicks Sehun gently in the knee. “Quickly now.” 

Sehun leaps to his feet, towers over him. But Jongdae looks up defiantly at him, and Sehun starts to feel the crackle of electricity in the air. He steps back, and the hair on his arms starts to raise, static. 

“Show me what you can do,” Jongdae orders. 

“M-My lord?” 

“Show me the winds.” 

“My lord,” Sehun says, and he twists his hands together. “My lord, I can’t.” 

“And why not?” Jongdae wonders before looking to either side of Sehun as if peeking around the corners. “Are they hiding?” 

“N-No, it’s just...I’ve not learned how to...how to use them yet.” 

“Whatever do you mean?” He turns to the guards. “Did he blow the door to the keep off the hinges, or did he not?” 

“He did, my lord,” the mouthy guard says. 

Jongdae turns back to Sehun with a brow raised, unimpressed. 

“I-I don’t know how to control them, my lord,” Sehun says. “It comes and goes when it wants.” 

Jongdae’s expression shifts then, softens mightily, and Sehun wonders why. 

“Alright, alright,” Jongdae says, and he turns to his guard. “Two horses. Put them at the base, and wait for us there.” 

The guard taps his feet together, and then without another word, he leaves the room. 

“Let’s get you bathed,” Jongdae says. “Wouldn’t want you to smell like manure before your return. And no offense,” he waves at his face, “but you do smell a bit.” 

“My lord? My return?” 

“Please, do me a favor and cut the _my lord_ shit,” Jongdae says, and he walks away so quickly that Sehun is shocked into following him. “And...if you can’t get home on your own accord, then I’ll accompany you.”

“A-Accompany me?” 

“Of course. It’s been dreadfully boring here by myself for so long. And I need a bit of excitement.” 

Sehun’s eyes go wide when he’s lead to the bath, and then the door is closed behind him. With that, he is left to bathe and prepare himself for the long journey home from The Flats to Mulvilla.  
  


♔

He does not have much time to explore the castle at the Seat of the Strike. He is mostly confined to a simple room. It is much better than the cell in the keep, so he’s thankful for that. There is a clean bed with clean linens, a wash bowl. A chest of drawers with nothing inside. There is a single spot of green in the corner of the a room, a tall and spiked green plant, the soil damp when Sehun tests it with his finger.

There’s also a window, and Sehun spends the greater part of the evening staring out over the storm, the clouds low enough that he can see the top. The clouds look like spun sugar, the lightning spearing through the deep violet smoke. The rain pelts along the glass of the window, and Sehun traces along the drops with his finger as he waits for someone to fetch him. 

Finally, after several hours, there is a knock at his door, and Sehun stands just as it swings open. 

“Ready to return?” Jongdae asks, and he smiles at Sehun like they’re friends. 

He’s dressed in much the same outfit, but the sash is gone, replaced with a scarf of purple around his neck, tucked into the coat. He’s also got a pair of black leather gloves on his hands, pulled tight. He looks—looks as intimidating as he is surreally beautiful. 

“Y-Yes, my lord. But might I make one request?”

Jongdae narrows his gaze, studying Sehun. “What’s that?” 

“May I be allowed to send a raven?” Sehun asks. 

“To whom?” Jongdae says. “To Junmyeon?” 

“N-no, to...to a woman I met back in Thunder’s Shadow.” He twists his hands in his lap. “I’m afraid I was meant to meet her friend in Flemgrave, but I never arrived. And I’m...I’m sure she’ll be worried.” 

Jongdae huffs, shoulders hunching. “Fine!” He throws his hands up in the air, immediately fetches someone to bring Sehun parchment and a pen. 

With haste, Sehun scribbles out a letter. 

_Seulgi,_

_I write to you in healthful conditions, so I do hope you haven’t worried too greatly about me. I apologize for all the trouble I’ve caused you. I’m being escorted home by Jongdae himself, and I hope you’ll take his seal as proof of this claim._

_I hope to meet you again someday, so that I might repay you for your kindnesses. I miss you. I hope you see your brother again soon._

_With love,  
Sehun_

He is quick to pour the wax over the letter, sealing it closed. He passes it to the guard, has it sent to Thunder’s Shadow. And Sehun hopes it finds its way.  
  


♔

“Ready, finally?”

Jongdae stands there, looking bored. 

“I’m ready,” Sehun tells him. 

Jongdae rolls his eyes, turns his back, and begins to walk away, leaving Sehun to follow hastily behind. 

It is a long walk, down from the room to the throne, out from the throne to the doors to the palace. He takes the chance to observe his surroundings, to stare in wonder at the windows looking out over the water surrounding the castle, the storms raging outside. The clash of light flares in the dead of night, and it is beautiful, terrifying. 

“My lord,” Sehun says, and Jongdae turns sharply, staring at him. “Um…” 

“Spit it out,” Jongdae says. 

“Might it be wise to wait until morning? Until the storm has passed?” 

Jongdae laughs, and he snaps his fingers, the lightning stopping within an instant, the angry reddened clouds peeling away from the sky like paint from a canvas. 

“I am the storm, you sweet fool,” Jongdae smiles. “And I like to travel by night. I do hope you got your rest.” 

It is a bit of a climb, down from the castle and over the long bridge. The water underneath them is not littered with bloated corpses, struck dead as he’d once heard, but there is nothing living within the moat around the castle, no fish to speak of. Perhaps they’d cleared them out before Sehun had arrived? Perhaps— 

“Have you heard a great deal about me?” Jongdae asks, and Sehun hurries closer to him, closes the gap between them. 

“No, my lord.” 

Jongdae looks back over his shoulder, scowling. “Baekhyun didn’t say _anything_ about me? Or Junmyeon?” 

“No, my lord.” He looks down as he walks, focuses on his feet, treading over the wooden slats. “They did not tell me much, I’m afraid.” 

“Oh, poor you.” Sehun looks up, a bit shocked, and Jongdae is smirking back at him. “Do you often pity yourself this much?” Sehun holds his mouth open, perturbed, and Jongdae laughs. “I’m sure it’s been difficult on you, but it’s time to grow up now. You know who you are. You know what power rests inside you. Do you intend to stay weak forever? Feeling sorry for yourself?” 

“I’m _not_ weak,” Sehun says. 

Jongdae whips back around just as they are at the lowest point of the bridge, the suspension sagging dangerously close to the water. 

Jongdae steps forward, and Sehun resists the urge to take a step back, holds himself still as Jongdae reaches out, lays his hand along Sehun’s chest, just above Sehun’s beating heart. 

“No, you aren’t,” he says with a soft smile. “But you do play at weakness. You do let yourself pretend every once in a while. And it’s an addictive feeling, but we mustn’t get addicted. You are the steward of this life. You are the only one who can control what you do. Who you are.” 

He takes Sehun’s face in his hands, and Sehun’s eyes go wide as he pulls Sehun to him, kissing him sweetly before looking up at him with sparkling eyes, blue, purple, red. 

“Did he ever kiss you like that?” Jongdae asks, catlike as he tilts his head to the side. “Junmyeon?” 

“N-No,” Sehun stutters. 

Jongdae’s smile spreads like wildfires, untamed, unmanageable, glorious. 

“He still loves me,” Jongdae says, and he pulls Sehun off by the hand, off the bridge and down the stone steps to the bottom of the great hill.  
  


♔

There are two spotted horses at the bottom of the hill, and their manes are braided back in one long rope, hanging down their necks. Sehun can barely see in front of him, but Jongdae assures him to simply enjoy the ride, that the horse will follow Jongdae’s path.

“They’re all especially well trained,” Jongdae says, proud. “I trained these two myself. And did you know I can see in the dark?” 

Sehun furrows his brows before shooting him a lewd gesture, only to test his claim. Jongdae laughs sharply, loudly, and it splits through the dark. Sehun smiles, doesn’t mean to, but he does. 

“I like you better this way,” Jongdae tells him. “With a little bite to you.” 

“There is plenty bite to me,” Sehun says. “But I do have manners.” 

“ _Manners._ Never much had a use for those. But it is a fortnight until we’ll reach Avonrose, so maybe I’ll learn something new along the way.” 

“Yes, perhaps we both will,” Sehun says, and he strokes along the horse’s coat, the softness under his fingers reminding him of the daymares.  
  


♔

They ride through the night and through the day, and by the end of it, Sehun can barely keep his eyes open as the sun begins to set around them.

“Don’t complain now,” Jongdae says. “You’re the one who practically begged me on hands and knees to ride during the day.” 

“ _Some_ of us don’t have nocturnal vision, which makes it very disconcerting to ride at night without a _torch_ ,” Sehun says, and he sets up their tents quickly. 

“They’re scared of fire! What am I to do?” 

“Ride during the day!” 

Jongdae swats his hand through the air, poking at the fire he scorched down from the sky. He’s annoying that way: too good at what he does. 

“How many suns until the first town of Mulvilla?” Sehun asks. 

“Just another two or so,” Jongdae says, and he lifts his bag, starts to pull out some rations. They’re much kinglier than what Sehun had gotten used to, but he supposes they don’t need much for such a short trip. “Are you eager to return?” 

“Yes. Very.” 

“Any particular reason?” 

Sehun finishes shoving the poles into the ground, hangs the panels of the tent quickly. “The last time I saw him...we fought.” 

“Ah,” Jongdae says, and when Sehun looks back, he’s smiling, “looks like we’ve something in common after all.” 

“We’ve plenty in common!” 

“Magic notwithstanding,” Jongdae says. 

“Shut up.” 

It is not unpleasant, spending time with Jongdae, but there is an obvious antagonism still between them. Sehun’s never been good at letting things like that go. 

“Do you hate me because of Junmyeon?” Sehun asks. “Because he took me from the orphanage and raised me?” 

Jongdae walks up very close to Sehun, and again, Sehun feels the electricity surging along the surface of his skin, the hairs stood on end. It sends a shiver up his spine, and he steps back. 

“We don’t have to talk about him,” Jongdae says. “For your own sake.” 

He quickly moves past Sehun, parting the fabric to step into the tent. 

“Don’t even think about coming inside,” Jongdae’s voice says, and Sehun pouts, lying next to the fire, resigned to his bed of grass for the evening.  
  


♔

Highglen is the first small town that they happen across in the kingdom of Mulvilla, and Jongdae travels exactly as Sehun thought a king might. They travel down the grey, cobblestone road, tie the horses at the stable for the evening.

Highglen is indeed small, but it is cheerful, and Sehun can’t find it in himself to be anything but pleased as he takes it all in. The homes and shops are rudimentary the way most are in Mulvilla, simple and built of wood and stacked stone, moss creeping up between it all, and it gives such a charm to the place. The signs designating the shops are wood-burned, the symbols carved in black. The day is sunny, few clouds overhead, and the trees in town have begun to go red, orange, yellow. Sehun smiles. He always liked autumn. 

“Don’t look so pleased,” Jongdae says. 

“I cannot help it,” Sehun says. “It feels like home.” 

They get separate rooms in the inns, and Jongdae offers his purse in payment. 

They get food and drink at the tavern: mugs of cold ale with frothy heads, bowls filled with thick slices of spiced roast beef, ladeled high with small whole potatoes, chunks of carrot and sweet onion, and a thick, sumptuous brown gravy. Sehun eats, and it all tastes like home. 

Again, Jongdae offers his purse to pay, and Sehun can’t help but feel a bit guilty for it. It’s not that he doesn’t think Jongdae can afford it—after all, he _knows_ that he can, but…

“I’m doing you no favors,” Jongdae says, sipping at his beer as though he can just read Sehun’s mind at will. “You’re just a tool, nothing more. Can’t have you dying on the way before I deliver you to Junmyeon, can we?” 

“No,” Sehun says. “I suppose not.” 

“Then eat. And stop looking at me like I’ve hung the sun in the sky.” 

Sehun squints his eyes, wants to argue _that’s not how I was looking at you_ , but he is starting to learn that, in an argument with Jongdae, he won’t get very far.  
  


♔

They do not waste much time in towns, and for that Sehun is regretful. He’d like to see the world, see the stretches of it, the way it curls its toes into the water at the edges. The way the light sweeps across the plains. All the beautiful, terrible things. He wants to sink himself into them now.

“You’ve got your whole life to travel,” Jongdae scoffs. “You can see all the sites and eat all the food and buy all the silly, frivolous things you desire, but you’ll do it all _later_. This is a matter of great urgency, and matters of great urgency come first.” 

“As if you haven’t wasted decades not speaking,” Sehun scoffs back. 

“Yah!” Jongdae shouts, and he whacks Sehun across the shoulder. “Are you judging me, boy?” 

“Only if you’ve earned judgement.” 

Jongdae narrows his eyes, taps his heels against his horse until she pulls to a gallop. Sehun is forced to chase behind him if he doesn’t want to lose him. And truthfully, he doesn’t want to lose him. He finds he sort of likes Jongdae.  
  


♔

He’s spent so much time on the road now that it feels like a second home to him, and even with Jongdae, who holds him at arm’s length for much of the traveling, it is a good time. Sehun is able to goad him into stories when they’re around the fire, pulls him into conversation even though sometimes, it appears as if Jongdae remembers they’re supposed to be enemies.

“Do you really get many thieves?” Sehun asks. “I read once that you got at least one thief per day, trying to steal the black opals.” 

“It was worse back when I first arrived,” Jongdae says, and he takes the cup of wine that Sehun offers him. “The Flats were thick with marauders. The lightning wasn’t as bad. Didn’t pose much of a threat. Not until I arrived.” 

Jongdae calls three bolts of lightning about a stadia or two away from them, and Sehun spills his wine all over himself as Jongdae laughs. 

“They didn’t know what I could do until I did it,” and he takes a sip of his wine. “And then after that, we didn’t get many thieves at all.” 

Sehun furrows his brow, thinking of the passages he’s sure he’s read: bodies in the moat, the fractal scars along their skin. “But I read that…” 

Jongdae laughs sharply. 

“Haven’t you been paying attention?” Jongdae asks. “It doesn’t matter what you’ve read. So much is lies, and what’s left over is stretching of the truth. And so few actually know the truth. For a while, the only powers we were able to use, the only _real_ power we knew was fear. And you don’t need to do much in order to inspire fear. Only call a few bolts with the flick of your wrist—,” and he dramatically swishes a hand through the air, makes the lightning dance across the Mulvilla plain. “And they’ll sing songs about you forever.” 

Sehun studies him, watches the red slip between his lips. He can understand why Junmyeon fell in love with him. He is full of life, full of energy, and he is so very beautiful. Not only this, but— 

“You’re quite soft inside, aren’t you?” 

Jongdae sputters over his wine, starts to put up a fight, but Sehun knows that that is just a way to shield what’s below the surface. Tenderness and love. And Jongdae’s got so, so much of it.  
  


♔

Jongdae comes around, even though it is slow going. Perhaps he needed to learn that he could trust Sehun, that Sehun was not a threat to him or to his reunion with Junmyeon.

“Truly you’ve never once thought about him in that way?” Jongdae asks, and he looks suspicious as they ride, three more suns between them and Meadmeadow. 

Sehun shakes in his saddle. “No. No. _Definitely_ not. He was...he was always my brother. My older brother. I didn’t know _how much_ older until recently, but...but no. Never.” 

“Hm.” Jongdae keeps his eyes forward, and Sehun watches him from his peripherals. “But he’s so beautiful.” 

“Y-Yes,” Sehun admits. “Very fair.” 

Jongdae hums, narrowing his eyes as he’s wont to do whenever he suspects Sehun of being up to something devious. 

“I mean no offense,” Sehun says hurriedly, holding up his hands, the reins strung between them. “I only meant—” 

“Yes, yes, I know what you meant,” Jongdae says. “Shut up, and keep moving.” 

Sehun smiles as Jongdae picks up his pace. He’s wearing Jongdae down, slowly but surely, and he won’t rest until he’s won his heart, or at least, softened it to him.  
  


♔

They approach Meadmeadow, and Sehun can smell the sweetness in the air. Along the road, they pass rows and rows of manmade hives, and Sehun watches as the men and women tend to them, pulling out the shelves, gently brushing bees into swarms in the air before harvesting the honey they need.

Jongdae sits a little straighter in his saddle, and Sehun immediately notices. 

“You’re afraid!” Sehun teases. 

“I am _not_ ,” Jongdae says. 

“You are!” 

“Why would I be scared of something so small?” And Sehun gives him a once over. “Oh, quiet, I’m not that small, and I could call the rains down upon you in an instant, you little fool.” 

Meadmeadow chiefly sells mead, of course, but they also make a fine honey-roasted ham, and he and Jongdae eat after the darkness has settled around them. Jongdae pours Sehun’s glass full, and that makes it three, three gods who have poured for him though he supposes he’s got to count himself amongst them now. 

He finds it hard to imagine himself ever being called a god. 

“You get used to it,” Jongdae says. 

Sehun’s eyes go wide. 

“Can you read minds?”

“No, you just say everything you want to say on that face of yours.” And he flicks Sehun in the cheek. “Do you want a spot of advice? One god to another?” 

_Don’t call me that_ , Sehun wants to say. 

“Yes,” Sehun says. 

“Spend too much time worrying about problems before they arrive, and you’ll never even make it to them,” Jongdae says. “You’ll die before you get there.” 

Sehun takes his mead, sips at it. Sweet. Light. The honey reminds Sehun of Baekhyun’s skin. The sticky-warmth in him. 

“Take each day as it comes,” Jongdae advises. “It’s all you can do. Too much planning, too much worrying…you’ll rot your brain. It’ll leak right out your ears.” 

Sehun rolls his eyes, but perhaps Jongdae is right. Perhaps Sehun’s got to stop worrying about what people think of him, what they’ll call him. Perhaps Sehun ought to start taking each moment as it comes. A freeing, if utopian, thought.  
  


♔

They keep their pace, eager as they traipse across the land, stopping, resting for the night, getting themselves clean, replenishing their stores of food.

After Meadmeadow, they stop for the night after a long day of riding. With the fire started between them, Jongdae points. In the distance, Sehun can make out the castle. The capital city. 

“He’s supposed to be there right now,” Jongdae says, the lights dark over Autumenda as they stare off into the distance. “It’s the first time in a very long time that he’s missed his festivals.” 

It’s then that Sehun finally realizes, slower than he probably should have. Junmyeon never went on a pilgrimage to Baekhyun, never went to the Bichwood. Only used the long journey to excuse his absences, tending to his own kingdom. For Junmyeon was the king of Mulvilla, and the water festivals, he threw them all himself. Sehun was never in any danger of poverty, they would have never struggled, not for a single day. 

But to bar Sehun from the pilgrimage would have meant he’d have to admit to it all, tell Sehun the truth. And he did not intend to do that. Only hoped that Sehun would go and then return, completely unchanged. Completely unaware of his own power. 

Why didn’t he want Sehun to know? What—What was the purpose of keeping it all hidden? Of keeping secrets from him? 

The winds start to sweep dust around them, and Jongdae shoots him a look. “Is that you?” he wonders, and the gales die just as quickly as they were born. “Ah, it was. Is that your tick? You have to feel something and feel it strongly?” 

“I suppose,” Sehun says. 

“Should be no trouble for you, then,” Jongdae snorts. “The most sensitive boy in the known world.”

“I’m not _sensitive_.” 

“ _I’m not sensitive_ ,” Jongdae mocks, and Sehun shoves him. 

They’re quiet as they start to cook their supper, and they’re quiet as they watch the dark capital, one that should be alight with sound and merriment. They should be able to see it for milles. 

A vivid memory comes to his head, unbidden, uncalled for, and Sehun struggles to keep himself above the water of it: Baekhyun’s delighted smile as he shot fireworks into the sky, painting the night blue, red, green, and gold. How long has it been now since he’s seen him? Quite some time. And Sehun wishes it weren’t true, but his heart aches as if there’s been a hole punched through it. 

“Why did you stop speaking?” Sehun asks. 

“Junmyeon and I?” 

Sehun nods. 

Jongdae scoffs. “As if I’d discuss the intimate details of our relationship with the likes of you.” He pokes at the fire, giving the sausages a quarter turn. “Of course, you must know it all started before the war.” 

“Oh, gods.” 

“When Jongin and Chanyeol began to quarrel, it fractured the rest of us. We were already spread wide across kingdoms. Minseok in Esdare. Yixing in Hartcaster. Jongin was in Yeol, adopted by the king. Chanyeol was stolen, same as Baekhyun. The Six, you’ve heard of them.” 

“Chanyeol spoke of them,” Sehun says. 

Jongdae turns the sausages another quarter turn. “Chanyeol and Jongin, they were in love. This was, as you know, before the world got smart about such things.” He looks up, stares at stars. “Most of us had fallen in love. Junmyeon and I...once the rest had gone missing, we left together, went ourselves before anyone came to take us. We ran for milles, always wondering if someone was coming to get us. Always looking behind our backs. It was a great while before we found a place that suited us.” 

He smiles, as if remembering. 

“Where did you go?” 

Jongdae turns to him. Smiles. “Avonrose, of course. We built the very house you lived in. Built it with our bare hands.” He folds his hands together. “Lived there for many years.” He twists his fingers. “We argued a great deal, what to do about the ones who’d been taken. I always thought maybe this all could have been avoided if we’d just ripped out the greed and bloodlust in the kingdoms before it came for us too. But in the end, we waited. Hoped they’d come home. We fought, of course we fought, but...there was always something that pulled us back together. Something like destiny.” He picks at a fingernail. “I regret not acting. I think that’s why...when the time came for the war, the sky tumbling down around us, we splintered like stressed wood.” 

He takes the sausages off the fire, hands one to Sehun. He slathers his own with a whole-grain mustard, and Sehun follows suit, waiting for his time to speak. It has not yet come, he feels. 

“I wanted to pick a side,” Jongdae says. “I wanted to join in the fight. If there was to be war, then let the war come. I wanted...I wanted to be involved. I didn’t want more guilt piled atop what was already there.” 

“But Jun—”

“Junmyeon is stubborn. Believes in the fundamental goodness of man. Stupid fool. Didn’t believe in taking up arms against people he’d once called brothers. Only wanted to catch them after they’d fallen. And so I left. Took the Seat of the Strike for my own with not much struggle, and I pledged myself to Jongin’s cause.” 

“You took Jongin’s side?” 

“Of course,” Jongdae says. “Even Chanyeol knew he was doing wrong, as he was doing wrong.” 

He must have felt so alone, Sehun thinks, so forsaken. Everyone he’d ever loved turning against him, the world on his shoulders. 

“Did Junmyeon speak to him?” Sehun asks. 

Jongdae snaps his teeth through the casing of the sausage, chews and swallows. “After I left, I never spoke to Junmyeon again. It wasn’t my concern. He made no effort to reach out to me, no ravens, no correspondence, nothing. And once I heard he was offered the throne to Mulvilla, I thought… _we’ll never speak again_.” 

Sehun takes a bite of his own sausage, stares at the darkness over Autumneda. Once upon a time, Baekhyun had told him that he wanted to go to the festivals together. Watch the water dance together. Once upon a time. 

“And then, obviously,” Jongdae turns to Sehun, shoving his knee into Sehun’s, “you came along.” 

Sehun stares at the ground, the plush green grass. 

“Did you hate me?” 

“Course I hated you,” Jongdae smiles. “What did he want with you, a boy barely ten summers? I didn’t know. Didn’t wait to find out. As soon as I heard he was searching for you, I too began my search. Thought maybe if I grabbed you, he’d be forced to...forced to fight with me once more.” 

_Old habits_ , Sehun thinks, and he stays quiet for the rest of the meal as Jongdae talks to him about Junmyeon, about all the stories from when they were young, and the ways he missed him when they were old.  
  


♔

They bound across the heartland of Mulvilla, and Jongdae tries to help Sehun, in a very Jongdae way.

Supper is finished, their plates and cups washed clean by the water, and Jongdae stands by the fire, casting a very tall shadow. 

“Are you quite sure that you can’t control it?” Jongdae says, and he folds his arms across his chest, studying Sehun as Sehun sits there before him. “You look strong enough. Your aura is strong. I don’t understand.” 

“I don’t know. It just...whenever I try, nothing ever happens. Maybe a small little cloud of dust, but...but nothing besides.” 

Jongdae frowns, gets to his knees before planting himself right in front of Sehun, folding his legs. 

“Stick your hands out,” Jongdae orders. 

Sehun obliges him, sticks his hands out, palms down. 

“Not like that, you fool,” Jongdae groans, and he takes Sehun’s wrists in his grip, flipping them palms up. “There. Like that.” 

“How was I to know?” 

“Oh, you’re just so stupid about these things, aren’t you?” He rubs the centers of Sehun’s palms. “This is where it comes from.” 

“The magic?” 

“No, the sweat,” Jongdae says, rolling his eyes. “ _Yes_ , the magic.” 

Sehun stares as Jongdae kneads the centers of his palms, and Sehun tries to see what he sees. But there is nothing there, at least, nothing Sehun can see. 

“I can feel your negativity,” Jongdae says, and his eyes slip closed. “You don’t think you can do it.” 

“I know I can do it,” Sehun says stubbornly, and Jongdae’s eyes flick open. “What?” 

“I felt it pulse, just then.” He rubs at Sehun’s hands, gentle. “It’s...hot, but it’s cold.” He cocks an eyebrow at Sehun. “What a strange boy, you are.” 

Sehun pulls his hands back from Jongdae, holds them close to his chest. 

“Quiet, won’t you?” Sehun says, wounded. 

Jongdae smirks as he follows Sehun into the tent, and they lie with a great deal of distance between them until they fall to sleep.  
  


♔

For a moment, Sehun entirely forgets where he is. He hears birds, hears their singing, and he swallows spit, licking his lips. His arms are full, warm, and he absently kisses Baekhyun’s head. How long has it been since a comfort so simple and sweet? Baekhyun nuzzles into him, and Sehun lets the moan of pleasure rumble through his chest.

And then, of course, he remembers where he is. Who is actually in his arms. 

He leaps back, throwing Jongdae from his arms as he realizes in horror what he’s just done. What _they’ve_ just done. What they did to _each other_.

“It was bound to happen sometime,” Jongdae says with a little grin. “I’m a very tactile person, you know.” 

“Y-You….we can’t do something so—” 

“Oh, but I’ve been so lonesome,” Jongdae says, and he walks across the slim gap between them, rubs his face into Sehun’s chest. “Just a little won’t hurt.” 

Strangely, Sehun finds his arms coming down to hold Jongdae in his arms, and it feels almost like a reunion, like pieces of the puzzle are falling together. In his heart, he can feel a sweet, golden light, and he closes his eyes, cherishes that for as long as it stays. 

“See?” Jongdae says, looking back at him with a smile. “Wasn’t that very nice?” 

“Yes,” Sehun says, “I suppose it was.” 

“Now,” and he shoves Sehun away, “let’s go wash. You smell awful.”  
  


♔

The closer they get to Avonrose, the more Sehun feels the jolting of his nerves under his skin. He does not know what to say, how to say it. He’s got so much emotion inside him, and it’s dangerous, the level of passion and anger and love.

“All will be well,” Jongdae says. “All will be forgiven. Time heals it all, wipes the slate clean.” 

Has it been long enough, Sehun wonders. For Jongdae and Junmyeon, it has been a hundred years. For he and Junmyeon...so much less. 

“There is much to discuss,” is the only thing Sehun has to say on the matter, for there is so much to say. 

His emotions are complicated, tangled, and while Sehun believes Junmyeon had the best intentions at heart, still, he’s been fooled at every turn of his life, everything he knew a facade meant to keep him away from any struggle or strife. 

Sehun was always meant to fly. And he’s only just recently been given the chance. 

“Will you not forgive him?” Jongdae asks. 

“I don’t know,” Sehun says. “I am normally quite quick to forgive.” 

“But?” 

“But...but I am still angry,” Sehun says. “ _Hurt_.” 

Jongdae hums, looks up to the sky. “That’s fair. It is. But you must also think of it from his perspective. There was no way to know what the rest of us would do with you. How we would treat you. He only wanted to protect your light. You would have been so very fragile in any of our hands. And...and there was always the fear.” 

“W-What fear?” 

“The fear that maybe, perhaps someone else would find out your true power,” Jongdae says. “Rip you from the orphanage. Train you. Make you...make you something great, but something terrible as well.” 

“He did not want to see what had been done to the rest of you done to me,” Sehun says. 

“Junmyeon learns from his mistakes. Slowly, but he learns. He let you make your mistakes. He let you figure it out on your own, as you desired, didn’t he? I bet...I bet when you left, it ripped his heart from his chest. But he wanted to let you go. Let you be free.” 

Sehun feels the distinct urge to take Junmyeon into his arms. Hug him close. Whisper that everything’s okay. Ask him for assurance that all between them has been forgiven.  
  


♔

“Should only be a couple days more,” Jongdae says, checking the map, but Sehun doesn’t need the map to know. He’s starting to feel it.

Mulvilla is fruitful, fertile, and as they venture deeper inside, it feels like being wrapped in the arms of his mother. 

“Seems our journey together is almost at its end,” Jongdae smiles. “And now that you’ve had many traveling partners, how would you say I compare?” 

“I’ve only had you and Baekhyun,” Sehun says. “And myself, I suppose.” 

Jongdae’s eyes sparkle blue, red, purple. Storm clouds. “And how would I compare, then?” 

Sehun rolls his eyes. 

“Come now,” Jongdae says. “Do you really like him all that much better than me? What’s he got that I don’t have?” 

“Aren’t you in love with Junmyeon?” Sehun gripes. 

“Yes, but what’s that got to do with anything?” Jongdae asks. “I want to be the best at everything. The best that’s ever lived.” 

He puffs his chest out proudly, looking overwhelmingly handsome, and sometimes, Sehun just can’t understand him. 

Still, he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t count Jongdae among the most interesting, dynamic people he’s ever met, and altogether, he considers the journey a success. After all, he’s come away from it with a new friend.  
  


♔

As they ride, the lands get more and more familiar, more and more like home. What home feels like. The air is more pleasant, cool and sweet, and Sehun feels it breeze along him, run through his hair. It feels like a gift. Like something dropped into his lap.

To their east, Sehun spots Leefside, that beautiful city that was, once upon a time, the farthest place Sehun had ever traveled from home. Much has changed since then, but the sight of it, the grey stone and the creeping greens, nearly brings him to tears. Who was he, way back then? And who has he become? 

“Was it pleasant there?” Jongdae asks, and he nods in the direction of Leefside. 

Sehun can’t help but remember the way Baekhyun looked. Scheming, but sweet. Making Sehun fall deep, deeply in love. All in the matter of days. 

“Very pleasant,” Sehun says, and he clears his throat, clears all the tears away.  
  


♔

It is the last town before Avonrose, and the closer they get, the more wholesome the towns have become. This, a hamlet they call Stillfield, is as quiet as they come, and it reminds Sehun immensely of home. He’s been here before, but he has not been in quite some time.

There is no inn in Stillfield, but there is a tavern, and so they venture there after they arrive. Jongdae looks to Sehun expectantly when the girl comes to ask what they’ll have, and then Sehun scrambles to pick his favorite things. 

“Um, shepherd's pie?” he asks. “Do they still make it here?” 

“Course,” she smiles. “For the both of you?” 

“Yes, please,” he says, “and, um, two pints of ale?” 

“Light, dark, or red?” 

“The red, please,” Sehun says. “Thank you.” She bows, and he looks back to Jongdae, an elbow on the simple wood table, his chin in his hand. “What?” 

“Nothing, nothing,” Jongdae says. “But you look happy.” 

Sehun plays with his hands, scratches at a nail as he doesn’t have anything to do besides. “I am.” He pulls some of the fraying skin away from the bed. “It’s been a long while, since I was here.” 

“And did you miss it?” 

Sehun looks up, sees something in Jongdae’s eyes that he’s never seen before. Sehun knew he was soft, knew there was tenderness that he shielded, but this...this is something else. Something more raw. More hurt. 

“You always miss home,” Sehun says. “Even when you’re happy elsewhere.” 

Jongdae looks down, blinks several times. It’s been years and years since he’s been back here. Maybe he’s seeing all the new towns for the first time. A stranger to his own home. Sehun reaches across the table, takes Jongdae’s hand in his, and for a moment, Jongdae squeezes it gratefully. 

It is then that the girl sets two mugs down on the table. “Be back shortly with the pies.” She smiles and bows, and leaves them to it. 

Jongdae rips his hand away from Sehun’s, wraps it around the handle of the mug, and drinks so fast that Sehun is left marveling at the way his throat works. By the time he pulls back, sets the frosted mug down onto the table with a _thunk_ , he’s got a little white mustache of foam. 

“Alright?” Sehun asks. 

Jongdae rolls his eyes, but underneath the table, he kicks at Sehun’s foot, which is as close as he can get to an _alright_ of his own.  
  


♔

He can barely hold the excitement in, that final ride. Every little moment is torture, and his head swirls. There is so much inside him. So very much. And it all stands before him.

The sight of the cottage brings tears to Sehun’s eyes. It has been so long since he’s been back, since he’s seen the comforts of home, and it wells within him. He immediately taps his heels against the horses sides, pushes her to a gallop, and behind him, he hears Jongdae’s shriek. 

But Sehun only feels the wind in his hair as he travels back down the dusty country road to his childhood home, retraces his steps until he is standing at the doorstep, the wooden door slowly pulled open to reveal Junmyeon. 

Junmyeon, with a terrified look painted on his face. Sehun wants to hit him, wants to yell at him. Wants so much.

“He told me,” Sehun says, and the tears in his eyes, he can barely hold them back. “Told me about what I am. Who you are.” 

Junmyeon’s face twists, and his eyes, they too are wet with tears. 

“Sehun, I—” 

Sehun grabs him up in a hug, one that shocks a breath out of Junmyeon’s chest, and Sehun relishes in squeezing him tight. He is home. He is _home_. 

“Why?” Sehun asks, and the tears start to fall. “Why would you keep such secrets for me?” He presses the word into Junmyeon’s chest, into the soft parts of him. “Why?” He thumps him on the back with a hand before he flattens it out, squeezes the fabric of Junmyeon’s coat 

“It was to protect you,” Junmyeon says, and Sehun feels the tears falling onto him as well. “It was to keep you away from all these things. I didn’t know, couldn't know what they’d do to you if they found you.” 

“Junmyeon.” 

“I speak truly.” And he pulls back from Sehun’s arms, eyes wet and red. “I hid you away. I hid _both_ of us away. I never spoke to them, never _wanted_ to speak to them, not after the war. Sehun, I thought—I didn’t know what they’d do. If they’d manipulate you. Torture you. Use you as a weapon.” 

“They treated me as one of you. Part of the whole,” Sehun says. And he reaches up, brushes the tears away from his face. “Same as you did. As a brother.” 

“I was a fool,” Junmyeon tells him. “Forgive me. Forgive me, I beg you. I’ll ask you a thousand times if I have to. I shouldn’t have lied. I should have told you who you really were. But please, believe that I always, always had your best interests at heart. You were...you _are_ my family. For a great while, Sehun, y-you were the only family I had. Please, I—” 

Sehun holds him by the back of the neck, crushes him back into an embrace. Sehun closes his eyes, lets the tears roll down his face uninhibited. 

“I forgive you,” he whispers. “I do.” 

Junmyeon weeps, and he weeps, and it washes all the white lies away. Skin fresh, healed underneath it. 

They hold each other longer than is strictly necessary, but Sehun is finally home, finally whole again, finally at peace with him, his world colored by cool blues and greens. Mulvilla, the arms that cradled him, and Junmyeon, the man who has always protected him. He is home. _Home_. 

“This reunion is very touching. Should I return from whence I came without another word?” 

Sehun had almost forgotten that Jongdae was there. Maybe he _can_ be quiet. When he wants to be, of course. 

Junmyeon unlaces his arms from around Sehun’s body, turns to face Jongdae. He bows low to him, says, “Thank you for returning him home. I am in your debt.” 

“Oh, get up,” Jongdae says, and there is an inherent fondness in his voice, a fondness that has perhaps been reawakened. “You look stupid.” 

“Shut up,” Junmyeon says, and he immediately steps back, away from Jongdae. “Would you like a cup of tea?” 

“What?” 

“Honeysuckle tea,” Junmyeon tells him. “It’s very good.” 

Sehun nods in agreement. 

“I don’t want _tea_ ,” Jongdae says. 

Junmyeon folds his hands by his stomach, stares at the floor of the house. “Right. Y-You’ve been well, then?” He peeks up, checks Jongdae’s reaction. 

“Well enough,” and Jongdae studies his nails as if he’s unaffected. But Sehun knows the truth. He hides so much inside himself, shocks you if you get too close. “And you?”

“I’ve been well,” Junmyeon says, but his eyes tell a different story. He looks exhausted, the bags black. Sehun knows now. A lie. 

“You’re so good at pretending everything is fine,” Jongdae says, and he steps forward, leans back against the table as he stares at them. “Speaking to me like you’ve no ill will. Offering me a cup of tea. Where is your fight? Where is your fire?” 

Junmyeon snorts. “I am the god of water. I’m sure there is to be no fire when I’m around.”

“ _That_ is what I crave from you,” Jongdae says, and he takes another step forward, crossing very close to Junmyeon. “I want your ugliness that you pretend isn’t there. The kind you paint over with pleasantries.” 

There is a tense moment, and Sehun does not know whether they mean to kill each other or...or something else. He stands there, vaguely uncomfortable as they look at each other with so much heat in their eyes that Sehun might burn alive in the crossfire. 

“Go fetch eggs,” Junmyeon says suddenly, and he turns sharply, staring at Sehun with a wild look in his eyes. He goes to the mantle of the fireplace, grabs his purse before throwing it at Sehun. “Hurry. Down the road, you remember?” 

Of course Sehun remembers, remembers it from all his adolescence. _Why do you need eggs at a time like this?_ He wonders, but he doesn’t say it. 

He hurries out of the house, relieved to smell air that isn’t fraught with stress. 

He walks down the dirt road to the chicken farmer’s, a kind old lady who’s always liked Sehun, always been very sweet to him. 

“Oh, hello,” she says. “It’s been quite a while, young one!” 

“Yes,” Sehun says with a bow, “I’ve been away. I’m sorry.” 

She nods, smiles at him. “It’s good to travel.” She leans in, whispers with a laugh. “Makes you miss home more.” 

_Is anything more true?_

She fills a basket up with eggs, and with a pat to his shoulder and a wave behind him, she sends him down the way. Back home.

But when he approaches, he hears clattering, clashing sounds. He scrambles forward, perching himself by the window, but when he looks inside, he does not see them making a small war of the home. 

Instead, he sees Jongdae pressed to the wood of the table, Junmyeon’s body heavy over his, and they are kissing passionately. Instead, he sees Jongdae hooking his legs around Junmyeon’s body, writhing against him. Instead, he sees Junmyeon frame Jongdae’s face with his hands, like he is making up for months, years, decades, a century of silence. 

Sehun nearly drops the basket of eggs. 

Sehun falls to the ground, hides out of sight, and in his chest, a feeling blooms. Golden and bright. It beckons him in. _Take me_ , the light says. _Take me within your hand._

His eyes go wide, and he does as he’s bid, takes the golden light within his hands and pushes it out until the wind blows through the trees. He smiles as he realizes he can control it, he can feel the control inside him, and he pushes harder, makes the winds go stronger. 

He curls them in his mind, and they whip into a circle, spinning dust and leaves that have begun to fall from the trees up from the ground as he whips the winds harder and faster. He laughs, a sharp little thing, as he pushes it out, sends a little cyclone out and away, and as it gets further and further from him, the winds quiet, fall to the gentle breeze

He focuses all his power below himself, and within the blink of an eye, he shoots from the ground, flies into the sky like a firework. 

It shocks a scream from him, and once he reaches the apex of the push, he begins to tumble back down to the ground. Fruitlessly, he flails his arms, another shriek dragged from his chest, before he focuses, gives himself another good push, and he is sweeping through the sky, floating through clouds. 

He circles the home, laughter on his lips, and then he flies north to survey the hamlet. From up so high, it all looks so small, like he could reach out and pinch the houses together with the tips of his fingers, and by the time he returns home, Jongdae and Junmyeon are staring at him in disbelief, with red lips and heaving chests. 

“W-What happened?” Junmyeon asks. “Are you…” 

“I think I’ve found it,” Sehun says, and he launches himself forward into Junmyeon’s shocked embrace, squeezing him tightly. “I think I’ve finally found the winds. Truly this time.”  
  


♔

Dinner is simple, the kind of thing Sehun’s missed from Mulvilla. A simple salad, the last good harvest of the summer greens, dressed with sesame oil, vinegar, and brown sugar. A roast chicken, carved, and Sehun gets his pick of the pieces, flaking off the crispy skin with delight. He watches them as they eat, and he notices that their hands, Jongdae’s right, Junmyeon’s left, are below the table. He smiles to himself, eats his meal, and doesn’t say anything until they are finished, the dishes washed, everything put back where it belongs.

“So you’ve decided to forgive each other?” he asks. 

“As if it’s _your_ business,” Jongdae grouses. And Junmyeon pinches him in the side until he yelps. “Yes, yes, fine, we’ve forgiven each other.” 

“Truly?” Sehun says. “I wasn’t gone for very long.” 

Jongdae rolls his eyes, turns away, and goes to put the kettle on for evening tea. 

“What of the war? What of the separation?” Sehun asks. 

Junmyeon sighs, and he crosses to Sehun, taking him in his arms. “What’s done is done. We cannot change yesterday, only today, only tomorrow.” 

The sun sets, and they take their tea outside to watch the sun dip down. He misses the sunsets in the Bichwood. Misses the man who looks like the sunset. 

Sehun watches Jongdae and Junmyeon playfully poke at each other as if no time has passed, as if all is well, and it is beautiful, but it fills him with confusion. 

_Why now?_ , Sehun wonders to himself, gingerly sipping from the tea once Jongdae hands him a cup of it. _Why didn’t this happen twenty, thirty, forty,_ fifty _years prior?_

But they hold hands as they stand outside, staring at the purple sky, and Sehun supposes that it doesn’t matter when something happens, just that it happens at all.  
  


♔

Sehun wakes the next morning, and he hears the sound of eggs frying. He smells salt, smells bacon, and when he sits up, Jongdae is sitting at the table, staring at him.

Sehun takes the sheets, and he holds them to his chest. 

“This virginal boy,” Jongdae rolls his eyes. “As if we haven’t heard of your dalliances with the Sun God.” 

“Shut up,” Sehun says. “I’ve only just woken, and you’re attacking me. In my own home?” 

“It was my home long before it was yours, boy.” Jongdae grins, kicks one leg over the other. He looks comfortable, and Sehun wonders if they’ve made up, truly. How can one night erase years? How can one kiss make you forget so much? 

Sehun crosses his legs on his bed as Jongdae stands, begins to putter around the kitchen in such a domestic way. And that’s right, this was once the home _they_ shared. The home that they built together. Jongdae hooks his chin over Junmyeon’s shoulder as Junmyeon flips the eggs in the pan, and Jongdae’s arms circle around his waist. 

He supposes that in true love, in love that was always meant to be, forgiveness will come whether you like it or not. 

Sehun thinks of Baekhyun, thinks of all the things he’s forgiven him for so easily. How could he forgive him this? 

“Come on,” Jongdae says, looking back over his shoulder. “Make the tea. Earn your keep.” 

Sehun leaps from the bed, throwing a chemise over his head before going to the kettle and putting the water on. There is no time to think of the past. Only the gift of the present, and the future that follows close behind.  
  


♔

Jongdae stays for a sennight and then a sennight more. He writes ravens nearly every day, and eventually, he enlists Sehun’s help to build a raven post by the window.

“How did you manage,” Jongdae asks, holding the wooden post up straight as Sehun hammers in from above, “without a _fucking_ post.” 

Junmyeon pokes his head through the window. “Didn’t need any letters. Didn’t need a post.” 

“Very clever,” Jongdae says, rolling his eyes. “Some of us aren’t used to delegating half a year’s work to our advisors.” 

Junmyeon snorts, sticks his head back inside, shuttering the window closed behind him. 

Sehun studies Jongdae after the work is done, stands back and watches him. 

“Do you love him?” Sehun asks. 

Jongdae looks at him for a moment before looking back at the post, shaking it to make sure it’s sturdy. It stands the test, and he steps back, turns his back to Sehun. 

“Would I have swallowed my pride and come here if I didn’t?” 

Sehun can’t imagine Jongdae ever bending to anyone’s will, but here he is, back where he began. Back where they began, looking for another chance at them. 

“He’s never had anyone,” Sehun says. “Not so long as I’ve known him.” 

Jongdae turns, smirking. “Who could replace me?” He steps back, leaning an arm on the post, cocky. 

“No one,” Sehun replies. 

“That’s correct. No one. Finally, after all this time, you’re smartening up. Good. It did take you long enough.” 

Sehun smiles as he walks back into the house, and he tries not to think about the ways he might be replaced.  
  


♔

Life is simple in Avonrose, same as it always was. Sehun gets back to work, falls back into the rhythm of his old life as he helps Junmyeon tend the crops. Junmyeon now freely uses his water magic, and it has Sehun jealous.

The magic, the power that he thought he’d found for good, it sticks between his fingers now. He attempts to shake it away, make it stick to the world instead of his hands, but he can’t seem to manage it. 

Frustration sprouts in him easily now, and when he’s supposed to be weeding, he tries shooting gusts of wind from his fingertips. They are weak little pushes of air, puffs of smoke, really, and he huffs in exasperation. 

“Aren’t you meant to be working?” Jongdae asks, hunching in front of him. 

“I am,” Sehun says, and he pulls weeds from the acorn squash plot, throwing them in the canvas bag at his side. “See? Now leave me to my work.” 

“No, you’re playing with magic.” And Jongdae sits down across from him, crosses his legs. “Show it to me.” 

“There’s nothing to show.” 

“Then we are in disagreement,” Jongdae says, folding his hands across his lap. “We both saw you flying. Fly for me.” 

“I can’t.” 

In a split second, there is a giant crack of lightning that strikes the vane next to the house. 

Junmyeon pokes his head out of the tall corn stalks. 

“Jongdae!” he shouts. 

“It’s proving a point,” Jongdae shouts back. “Let me teach him.” 

“He needs no teaching! He’ll find it on his own!” 

But Sehun leans forward a bit towards Jongdae. Maybe he isn’t able to find it on his own. He’s thought...he’s thought multiple times that he’s found the winds for good, but each time, they blow past him, through his fingers, unable to be caught. 

“You’d found your tick,” Jongdae says. “Feel. Feel deeply, and focus on it. What did it feel like inside you when you flew? Find that feeling again. Make her sing.” 

Sehun closes his eyes, tries to find that golden light. And he does find it, but it’s hidden away in his heart. Locked away. Kept tight. Close to him. 

“I-I can’t,” Sehun says. 

“You can,” Jongdae tells him, and Sehun feels Jongdae’s hands take his own, squeezing them tight. “Take it. It’s yours, so you must only reach out and take it.” 

Sehun shivers as he tries, focusing everything he has into reaching deeper, deeper. _Take it_ , he thinks. _Just let me have it._

And when he thinks of Baekhyun, the light blooms for one moment, a brief, hopeful, _yellow_ moment, and Sehun scrambles for it, pushes towards it, hand open. 

But the moment dies, and so does the light inside him, and it collapses, his shoulders slumping as he heaves another frustrated breath. 

“You’ll get it,” Jongdae says, and he pats Sehun’s hand in his. “Fear not, young one. Either you find it, or it finds you.”  
  


♔

He practices with Jongdae every once in a while, but nothing comes of it. He can find a bit of it, whenever he’s happy or laughing, and he takes those bits greedily. Hungrily. But each times he finds a bit, he wants more. He knows what he can do now. He wants it all the time.

“You’re too focused on the product,” Jongdae says. “Not focused enough on the process.” 

“If the process would come to me, if I _understood_ the process, then I’m sure I’d focus on that instead.” 

“Smart mouth, boy. I’ll give you some pretty smart scars to match if you use that tone with me again.” 

Sehun knows them all now. Empty threats. They build themselves up so big to scare everyone else away. 

He tries to mimic Jongdae’s words. Process over product. Where is that golden light? Deep within his heart? Why is it hidden? Why won’t it come? He cannot understand it. He feels it sometimes, feels it thick like dripping honey, but it never seems to stay. It’s almost as if it wants Sehun to give chase. But how can he chase something that only rests inside him? 

“Hands,” Jongdae orders, and Sehun sticks his palms out, lets Jongdae pet over them. “Mm. Stronger by the day. But still, there is something missing, isn’t there?” 

What could be missing? What could possibly be missing besides— 

Surely not. Surely not the one who hurt him so badly. Surely not. 

“Could be anything,” Jongdae says. “Magic is fickle. Especially the sort that hasn’t been mastered.” 

Sehun lays awake at night, stares at the wood ceiling of the cottage, and he thinks about what could be missing. Anything besides Baekhyun.  
  


♔

Weeks turn to a month, and Jongdae, he does not leave. Sehun supposes he can’t blame him. Why leave the place you’ve waited so long to return? Why stray from the side of your true love?

And it _is_ true love between Junmyeon and Jongdae. From the way they bicker, argue over petty things, and ricochet back together again, kissing each other hard when they think Sehun’s not looking. He tries to give them as much time alone as he can, but the cottage is small, and there is not much room to hide. 

He can feel Jongdae’s frustration because Jongdae makes no effort to hide it, not at all. He picks the radishes out of the ground, sighing to himself, as though Sehun can’t hear it. And for a while, Sehun pretends not to, only because he knows it angers Jongdae so. 

“Fine,” Sehun says, and he brushes the dirt away from a radish after pulling it from the ground. He tosses it into the canvas bag. Brushes his hands together, rubbing away the dirt. “What would you like to say, Jongdae?” 

“Imagine yourself in _my_ position,” Jongdae says. “I’ve waited years until the time was right to reconcile with him, and now, once I have, once all is finally well again, I’m not even allowed to have him suck my c—” 

Junmyeon pokes his head out of the corn field again, and his eyebrows are furrowed, the ground flooding around him. 

“If you don’t stop immediately, you’ll _never_ get whatever it is you were about to say, not so long as I’m living!” Junmyeon shouts, and Jongdae ducks his head, a scolded puppy. 

“He’s always so cross with you,” Sehun says, smiling to himself. 

“That’s not what he says after you’ve fallen to sleep,” Jongdae mutters, and Sehun reaches out to smack him across the shoulder. “Ow! Didn’t anyone tell you it was quite a bad idea indeed to strike a god?” 

“You’ve hit _me_ before.” And he smacks Jongdae again. “Where was your recourse then?” 

“Careful,” Jongdae smiles. “You’ve not found your true power yet. I could take you easily.” 

But Sehun wrestles him to the dirt playfully, but carefully as to not disturb the plants. He pins Jongdae’s wrists to either side of his head, straddles him quickly, and grins down at him only for Jongdae to erupt into laughter, trying to throw Sehun off of him. 

“I yield, I _yield_ ,” Jongdae laughs. And he pushes Sehun back by the shoulders once he’s free, knocking him into the dirt. “You big oaf.” 

“Better a big oaf than a small one.” 

“Oh, that’s it,” Jongdae says, and he chases Sehun through the patch of radishes, the pursuit only ending when Junmyeon parts the stalks of corn once more, scowling at them.  
  


♔

At night, Sehun stays up, and he listens to the whispers. They’re not lewd, thankfully, but they do give Sehun pause.

“We can be together there,” Jongdae says. “Bring him with us if you’d like, if you think he wouldn’t want to be on his own. He’s more than welcome in the kingdom. You know I have a soft spot for him now.” 

Sehun’s heart tenses in his chest. The Flats? The three of them? 

“I can’t,” Junmyeon says, and he hears the rustling of sheets, Junmyeon turning as he whispers. “This is my kingdom. This is my duty. This is where we must stay.” 

“What of my kingdom? What of _my_ duty?” 

“Jongdae.” 

“I won’t rush you,” he says, and Sehun hears the soft press of a kiss. “You know I’d never rush you into a decision again. I’ve learned my lessons well. But we need room to grow. We cannot get stuck. Have you too learned your lessons well, Junmyeon?” 

There is a quiet that Sehun remembers from Baekhyun’s chambers, the fogged kind. The possibilities at the other end, endless. 

“I have.” 

“So you’ll think on it.” 

“Of course, I will.” 

Another soft kiss. 

“That’s all I ask.”  
  


♔

Sehun is slow in realizing things, to be sure, but when he finally gets to understanding, it does not take him long to do something about it.

He understands. They need privacy, they need space. They need time to relearn one another. They need to rule. They don’t need him breathing down their necks.

He peers at them through the window, sees them huddled underneath the sicklesap tree, the curved branches giving them a shield against the rest of the world. Jongdae has Junmyeon against the trunk of the tree, and he’s whispering into his ear. Junmyeon’s got his eyes closed, a smile on his face, hands gripping Jongdae’s jacket. 

He closes the curtains. It’s too private of a moment, and he feels uncomfortable watching it unfold. 

For one moment, he feels sad. Unwanted. Unfit. He allows himself only one moment of that before he starts thinking about where he could go. Who he could stay with for a while. 

And when the answer becomes clear, the bright gold feeling in his chest nearly shoots him through the roof. 

He’s missed Chanyeol so much since the last he saw him, and it would be good to see him again. Maybe learn more about him. Help him with his troubles. And the feeling, bright, golden, warm. It only grows, grows, grows, the more Sehun thinks of it. 

_Oh_ , he thinks. _This….perhaps this was always meant to be the way of things._

Sehun looks through the window once more, sees them kissing, and the bright, golden feeling tells him that he’s right. Whispers in his ear, the way a lover would. _Fix them_ , it says. _Hold them together when they can’t do it on their own._

Under the cover of night, he prepares himself. For his pilgrimage is never complete, no matter how many times he thinks it might be so.  
  


♔

When the morning comes, he is ready to leave. His bags are packed. They rest against the wall near the door. He’s no clue how to survive the climate, but he hopes that, with a little ingenuity and a lot of help along the way, he’ll be able to make it to Chanyeol in one piece. Maybe he’ll remember how to fly, make the journey quicker that way. It is wishful thinking, but that’s the kind of positivity he’ll need, he thinks.

He is as ready as he’ll ever be. 

The only thing left to do, of course, is to leave. 

But as the sun starts to rise, Sehun’s stomach aches. Is this really the only way? Is this really what he’s destined for? He’s deracinating again, always, the soiled roots of him pulled up and away from the earth once more. Maybe he wasn’t meant to stay in one place. Maybe he wasn’t destined to have a true home. 

He nudges Junmyeon awake by the toe, standing at the edge of the bed. Junmyeon rubs sleep from his eyes, looks at him confused. 

“Sehun-ah?” 

“I’ve got to go,” he whispers. “Please, just...you can go back to sleep, I just wanted to say goodbye.” 

Junmyeon does not obey him, doesn’t even hesitate as he jumps up out of the bed, shaking Jongdae awake furiously. “Jongdae. Get up. Jongdae, _get up_.” 

“Is the world ending?” Jongdae asks sleepily, face smushed into the pillow. 

“No, but—”

“Then, let me sleep.” 

“He’s _leaving_.” 

Jongdae’s eyes open, and he furrows his brow. 

He too springs up from the bed, running a hand through his hair to calm it. “What do you mean, _you’re leaving_?” 

“Yes, what do you mean, _you’re leaving_?” Junmyeon says, and he clasps Sehun on the shoulder. “You’ve only just returned. We’ve only just...we’ve only just become a family again!”

It tugs at his heartstrings well, as it’s meant to, and Sehun only narrowly resists the pull. 

“Ah,” Sehun mutters, and he pushes them both back, goes to the door where he’s laid his pack out. “It’s alright. It will all be fine.” 

“Yes,” Junmyeon says, “because you’ll stay. Don’t be crazy.” 

“I have to go,” Sehun says, and he smiles sadly. “It’s alright. Go back to bed.” 

“Why do you have to leave?” Junmyeon asks. “This is your home.” 

“I know,” Sehun says, “but I think I’ve just now realized what I’m to do.” 

“And what’s that?” Jongdae asks. 

“I was meant to unite you once more,” Sehun says, and he feels that bright gold feeling swell in his chest when he says the words. All the more to confirm it. “I was meant to hold the eight of you together. I am to be the bond between you all. And now that you both are back together, I’ve got to...got to move on. I’ve got to go somewhere new.” 

“Where?” Junmyeon asks. 

Sehun thinks of his face, his long flowing red robes, the charming smile. Thinks of his love. The way he turned his back on it to favor his kingdom. His honor. But time has passed. The world turns, and Sehun knows that he’s changed. Maybe it’s time for their reunion as well. Maybe they won’t reconcile as well as Junmyeon and Jongdae have, but at the very least, they’ll learn to forgive. To stitch up the holes, sew them closed. 

He’s convinced now more than ever. His destiny awaits him in liquid fires, in sands so hot they could melt under your feet. 

“To Flatfire. To Hwajae. The Fire Hills.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello friends. it has been a while, hasnt it! 
> 
> im so happy to be back with you all. im about a day away from finishing the story entirely, only a couple scenes, a couple thousand more words to be written! it would have been finished TODAY if i hadn't gotten a horrible stomach bug, but....win some, lose some lmao. i just really hope you enjoy the ending now that you've finally gotten to read the first part of it. 
> 
> only two more updates now, 6.11 and 6.18. wow. it's almost over!!! can't believe it!!! ah. anyways. if you like it, share it with your friends, tweet abt it, leave a comment, keep me from deleting my ao3 account lmao (just kidding) (mostly) 
> 
> alright! one week! see u all then!!! 
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfsupremacist) | [my curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/wolfsupremacist)


	8. book three, chapter two

It is madness. Lunacy. 

He goes anyway. 

“You can’t,” Junmyeon argues. “You can’t. You absolutely mustn’t. Sehun, you’re—” 

“I have to,” Sehun says. “You know I must.” 

“I know no such thing.” 

Junmyeon squeezes his eyes shut tight, and the tears fall. Sehun laughs, takes Junmyeon into a hug. After a while, after he’s got his fill, Junmyeon pushes him back with a hand at a shoulder, sniffing. 

“Just fly, alright?” Junmyeon says, resting his forehead against Sehun’s. “You can always fly back to us. There is always a place for you here.” 

Deep within him, he knows that there isn’t. His place was never in Avonrose, no matter how greatly he cherished it, no matter how much he loved it with all his heart. It was not his home. He’d never had one, just had a temporary place within the cottage, a place left absent by Jongdae. But Jongdae has returned, and Sehun doesn’t know their plans, but he’s smart enough to know that they shouldn’t include him. 

They stand at the doorway as he mounts his horse. He taps his heels into the horse’s side, and they wave to him as he turns his back on his childhood home once more, ready for the mission before him. 

Is he ready? Truly? It’s impossible to know something such as that, but he _feels_ ready, at the very least, and the feeling is more valuable than any gold or any promise.  
  


♔

Sehun’s never journeyed farther west than Avonrose, so while he’s now more familiar with this world than he was previously, he’s got no semblance of what lies beyond as he goes. He unfolds his map, studies it carefully.

He’ll go northwest, traveling as far as he can within the pleasantly forested north, far south of Hartcaster. And then, when the journey to Flatfire is shortest, he’ll venture into the Hills, try his best to survive long enough to find Chanyeol. 

Happily, he gets to travel within the small towns of Mulvilla as he goes. This time, he does not have Jongdae hurrying him along, so he wastes as much time as he feels he should. If anything, it will be best to travel through Hwajae in the winter. Perhaps the fires will be calmer then. 

He packed lighter clothes for the heat in Hwajae, of course, but as the months turn colder, a chill rests along the earth, so he dresses warmly in his wool jacket from Seulgi, a chemise underneath, thick pants, and boots with thick wool socks. Sehun’s become acutely accustomed to the warm weather, and even the slightest chill is enough to make him shiver now. He’s sure she would call him a babe, and he pulls the jacket tighter across his chest as he rides.

It is as pleasant of a ride as he can remember, the horse gentle and the scenery beautiful. Mulvilla as a whole will always hold a special place in his heart, and he studies everything carefully, as if trying to commit it to memory. 

As he rides northwest, the trees grow heartier, their bark thicker, more durable and rust-red. There are oaks, pines, dry brush along the beaten path, and Sehun watches wild rabbits hop along the forested floor, a nest of kittens close behind. It is a wonder, this world, and there is majesty even in the smallest, most tucked-away places. 

Sehun cannot help it. It reminds him greatly of Baekhyun. Some weak part of him wishes Baekhyun was here, next to him, telling him a joke or kissing him softly on the cheek. 

_No_ , he thinks. Baekhyun lied, kept things from him. And this time, he will not forgive. He will not forget so easily. 

Sometimes, it is good to be alone. 

He stares up at the cloudless, open sky as the horse carries him, trotting down the beaten path as Sehun tries to clear his head.  
  


♔

They happen across a stream, and the horse bows its head to drink from the water as Sehun takes stock of where they are, map unfolded in his lap. They’ve still two suns before they reach the first town, a little farm village called Grassbell. From there, they’ll hit Riverford, Lemont, Nogtown, and Sandswallow. And then, they’ll be standing on the edge of Hwajae.

 _They_ , he scoffs at himself. _Not they. Just him._ Sure, the horse will be with him, but once they hit Sandswallow, he’ll have to leave her behind, too. After that, it will be just him. Totally alone once more. 

He fishes from the stream, fries the little fingerfish over the fire the way he learned how in Gochidana. Everywhere he looks, he finds memories of Baekhyun. He puts it from his head. They weren’t in love. Love cannot be built upon something so shallow as flesh and falsehood. 

Still, he wonders why he cannot simply take the thoughts away. Why he cannot forget the fragments and shards of him, embedded under his skin like glass. He picks them out, one by one, and yet they return. 

When he eats, he pulls the spine of the fish from his mouth, and the bones pick his teeth. 

The horse lies down next to him, and Sehun pulls an apple from his pack, feeds the horse from his hand.  
  


♔

Grassbell is a hilly land, and as they get closer and closer, the horse starts to carry him over green hills tall enough that he can see the small farms among the fertile valleys. On the top of each hill rests a windmill, the white cloth sails beating clean and crisp against the blue sky. They are tall wooden structures, but not the tallest things Sehun’s ever seen. In fact, they are quite small for windmills, perhaps only three times the size of him.

Without thinking much about it, he pushes out a gust of wind from the heart of his palm, and he sends the windmill spinning quickly. 

Once he reaches the center of the little town, he realizes just how _little_ it is. There is one shop, a general store of sorts, and there is a tavern for gathering. There is no inn—they must not get many visitors. Sehun can’t imagine why not. Grassbell is so lovely, natural in her beauty. 

He stops in the tavern, and he sits down at a small wooden table, taking stock of the people inside. There are only a few, older folks playing a tabletop game that Sehun does not recognize. But they move pieces around, rejoicing in successes and wallowing in defeats, and Sehun sips at sweetened tea as he watches them from across the room. 

The girl serving plates has curly black hair to her waist, a charming white smile, and she bows before asking if he’d like anything to eat. 

“Anything you’ve got with chicken and rice. All I’ve had for days is fish, and I’m sick of it,” he says, smiling at her, and she blushes. 

“My mother makes the most delicious honey-soy chicken you’ve ever had. It’s sticky and sweet and salty, it’s my favorite,” she smiles. “She puts in broccoli and water chestnuts too.” 

“That sounds lovely,” Sehun says. “Please, a plate of it.”

She bows again, and she leaves him with another glance, a flush on her cheeks. 

When she brings the food back to his table, it looks as delicious as she said. The sun sets as he cleans his plate, and slowly, the tavern fills with people. They eat, drink, cheer each other on in matches of the game they call _draughts_. Sehun tries not to watch them too intently, but he attempts to figure it all out, tries to see the point of it all, and slowly, over the course of several matches, he starts to understand. 

A young girl plays an older woman, and when the girl emerges victorious, the rest of the people standing around her clap her on the shoulder and cheer for her. She smiles, her teeth bright white and straight, and yields her seat at the board to another girl sitting close by. Sehun watches her for a while before he realizes that he’s staring, that he’s being rude, and he quickly looks away, focuses instead on the red wine that he’d switched to after the sun fell. 

Then, he feels a gentle pat on his arm. He turns, sees the girl looking at him with a small, closed smile.

“Would you like to play, sir?” the girl asks, and the smile on her face widens, comforting. 

“I don’t know the rules,” he answers, “but thank you.” 

“Oh, it’s simple,” she says, and she waves him over until he scoots his stool close to hers. “I’ll play you next match.” 

“An easy win for you, I’m sure.” 

She wrinkles her nose over another smile, and Sehun notices how pretty she is. Her hair is long, black, and straight, and it falls down low over her back. She has cherry red lips, happy cheeks, straight, serious brows. And her eyes are dark, flickering amber by candlelight. 

Sehun sits back sharply from the table, a sense memory as strong as memory itself. Youngho’s amber eyes. The way he looked at Sehun. The friendliness, the… was Seulgi a glamor? Is this girl? Are they all just… just versions of Baekhyun? Is he always being watched? I-Is— 

“Are you all right?” the girl asks. “You’ve gone all… all sweaty.” She laughs, takes his sleeve in her hand and dabs his forehead dry. “There. Better now.” 

He leans in a bit closer, looks deeply into her eyes as if he could perhaps see Baekhyun through the irises. But he doesn’t see anything but brown eyes. Confused brown eyes. 

“Are you… what’s your name?” he asks. 

“Park Sooyoung,” she says before narrowing her eyes at him. “Why?” 

“Y-You reminded me of someone,” Sehun says. 

“Is she pretty?” Sooyoung asks, and she bats her eyes at him. 

“Yes, very pretty.” 

“Then I’ll take the compliment.” Sooyoung turns away, her attention back on the game for a moment before she realizes that Sehun has not stopped staring at her. “ _What?_ ” 

“Y-You’re not… you’re not _him_ , are you?” he asks. 

“Him?” she laughs. “Who’s him?” 

“Baekhyun?” 

She recoils a bit at the sound of his name, shocked. “Are you crazy?” she asks, and then she tilts her head to the side, studying him carefully, turning his jaw from side to side to look in his eyes. “Have you gone mad?” 

Sehun pushes back, and she laughs, taking a sip of beer from her frosted mug. 

“My apologies,” Sehun says, and he smoothes the sides of his clothes down as though that will help calm his mind. “I-I suppose I’m just a bit sensitive now.” 

“Strange as you are sensitive, then,” Sooyoung says. “Now, sit there.” She points across to the seat that goes empty after the other challenger has left. “And I’ll teach you to play.”  
  


♔

Sehun gets a bit drunk as she teaches him, and they talk for hours. It is not long before the tavern closes that Sooyoung offers him a place to stay.

It is a short walk from the tavern to the cottage, and Sehun holds onto the reins of the horse as he gently guides them both through the pastoral town. The little wooden cottage that Sooyoung leads him to is cozy. There are large rows of planters in the front yard, and they house tomato plants that have gone fruitless with the changing of the seasons. It is a well-tended little garden, though, clean and well kept. 

Sehun ties the horse to the post next to Sooyoung’s horse, and he turns back, sees her open the door for him. 

“It’s small, but it’s home,” she says as she takes him through the front door, and the place is quiet, dark. “Here, I’ve got a separate bed just through here. Light the fire, will you?” 

She hands him her pocket flint, and he starts the fire quickly, filling the home with warm light. He studies it. The artwork hung carefully on the walls. The small potted plants. The cushions look handmade, knitted, and there is a quilt over the back of the small loveseat, squares of blues, greens, and yellows. 

When she comes back with another blanket, he bows to her. “Thank you for letting me stay here.” 

“It’s no trouble,” she says, and she passes the blanket to him. “It’s getting cold out there at night. Plus, we’re friends now, aren’t we?” 

A part of Sehun’s stomach goes sick. The thrall. The irresistible thrall that people feel. He is an unavoidable manipulator. He is… he is undeserving of such affections from strangers. 

“Why the long face?” she asks. “You look troubled.” 

“I-I don’t want to burden you more than I already have troubled you,” Sehun says, and he bows to her again. 

“You’re no burden to me, Favored.” 

Sehun stands back up to see her smiling at him.

“Y-You know I’m—” 

“Well, I’m no fool. You match the descriptions well, you’re on your own after the world heard you’d left the Bichwood, and then, you asked if I was the _god of light_.” She shrugs. “Like asking a child to add one and one.” 

“I-If I’m imposing, then, please, I am quite capable of staying elsewhere.” 

“I invited you because you looked lonely,” Sooyoung says. “And you’re kind. Don’t take it as more than that. I want nothing in return from you. I’m not doing it because _I_ favor you. Not everyone has motivations deeper than simple kindness.” 

She reminds Sehun of Taeil, and he feels a kinship with her that he cannot explain. 

“You can tell me your story,” she offers, “if you think it would help.” 

And so he does. They sit cross-legged on the couch, and Sehun pours his heart out to her, tells her everything. The deceptions. The falsehoods. He finds himself on the verge of tears when he tells her about the way he flew. His power. The way he… the way he thought himself in love. 

“You were,” she says. 

“I wasn’t.” He shakes his head. “It’s not love if it’s all lies.” 

“Love is not so easily understood. Love isn’t easily reckoned with. Love isn’t… love isn’t logical or wise. It is often foolish and unkind.” He looks up at her, and she smiles sadly. “We can’t control who we love. Loving someone who hurts you, it is not something you can help. The only thing you can do is try to move on from it. Learn from it.” 

But all he feels is stuck. Stuck in the past. Stuck inside Baekhyun’s head.  
  


♔

Sooyoung sends him off in the morning with a quick embrace, and it is so reminiscent of the way he left Seulgi that it makes him feel like crying.

“I’ll write you,” Sehun says. “And perhaps, once I’m finished, I’ll return someday and repay your kindness.” 

“No repayment is necessary,” Sooyoung says, and she squeezes his hands in hers. “We’ve found friendship. That’s payment enough, isn’t it?” 

He can never tell now, whether a person loves him for him or whether it is the thrall, and it sits sickly in his stomach as he rides off, turning his back on Grassbell, off towards the next little town before he makes it to the Hills.  
  


♔

The river sprawls across the land, splits it in twain, and Sehun finds it comforting to ride next to the water. Water is such a valuable resource, and having it next to him constantly is a reassurance. It reminds him of Avonrose, reminds him of Junmyeon, and the sound of the water gently rushing past lulls him to sleep easily once he makes camp for the night.

It is three suns before he reaches the next town, and he spends his time taking in nature, watching the fish of yellow-green scales dance through the river’s waters. The trees are massive, hardy oaks, and whenever he needs to give his horse a break, he rests under one, back straight against the trunk. He naps beneath the bright afternoon sun, and it eases the chill of the winds. 

The river guides him, a hand on his back, and he needs no map, not when he can so easily follow the water, letting it lead him forward. It is an easy trip, no struggles, no strife, and when he sees the town in the distance, his heart leaps in his chest. 

Riverford is built in towers of dark grey-blue stone, swirled and streaked with white and grey, and Sehun marvels at it as he trots past. Riverford is large enough to warrant a stable, and there’s an inn too, so after Sehun pets the horse goodbye, leaving her in the care of the stablehand, he walks off to the inn and books himself a room for the night. 

He does a bit of exploring after he’s set his bags down in the simple room, and he finds the baths in the inn soon after. He soaks in clean water, scrubs himself until he shines, and makes himself soft and fresh-smelling again before he decides to venture outside the inn and see what the town has to offer. 

Sehun catches a few glances, and some people stare as he walks through the bakery and the leather crafts shop and more, but he does not pay them any mind, only continues his journey. 

He stops for his supper at the tavern, and they are a fine folk, the people of Riverford. They are kind and sweet, and the barkeep pours him stouts of a dark color, tasting faintly of chocolate and black cherries. He eats a simple meal, a pie of meat and potatoes, and when the night is all said and done, he retires to his room, dead on his feet. 

It is a relief to sleep on such a mattress, but when he shuts his eyes, he dreams of the bed he once shared with his great love, the love that should never have began at all.  
  


♔

The lands change after Riverford, and the orchards begin to roll past him, trees of different heights bearing all fruits imaginable. Sehun stops once or twice to snag a red pear from a tree, and at the foot of the tree he lays gold for his payment. He does not regret it, not a bit. The juice drips from his lips, sweet and ripe.

The land is flat, fertile, and Sehun enjoys his ride as he moves through the sprawling farms of Lemont. 

The people are exceptionally kind, and he again wonders if it’s the thrall that Baekhyun spoke of, the draw that people have to him. Or maybe they recognize him? Maybe they know his name? 

Can people control it, the way they feel about him? He wants to… wants to earn affection on his own. Wants it of his own merit. Doesn’t want things given to him. Sometimes, when things are given too freely, it breeds lust for them. Blood. Flesh. Gold. Love. 

He wonders if Baekhyun told the world of his departure. Wonders if he tried to hide it like a blemish. Sehun doesn’t know which he’d prefer. Either way, the world knows. Sooyoung made sure he knew it.

He felt the beginnings of greed, back in Bichwood. He doesn’t want to ever feel that way ever again. 

When merchants try to hand him things free of charge, he hands over the pieces they’re owed. Sehun will fight against nature if he has to. He does not mind. He’s decided. His days of taking with never giving back are behind him now.  
  


♔

It is on the days of journeying between towns that Sehun feels the loneliness creep inside of him. It is a disheartening song, deep and endless inside of him, and he wonders if the only way to quiet it is the way he knows he will.

He does not know what true weakness was, the staying or the leaving, and he fears he might never know. And going back—what will the stories say about him if he returns? Is that the ultimate weakness? A betrayal of who he’s become? 

He is deep in thought as he passes two men on horseback, steeds of white and brown, and the bit of conversation he hears makes his stomach curl into black tendrils of sadness. 

“You’ve heard, then?” the first man says. “Bichwood king?” 

“Inconsolable for the first fortnight, they said,” the second man says. 

_Inconsolable, they said. What of me? Is there anything, anyone to console me?_   
  


♔

Nogtown is greenery upon more greenery, moss covering the stones as he rides closer and closer to the town square. The castles and buildings are stacked high, with pretty arched windows and curtains fluttering in the breeze. Sehun aims at them, takes the smallest amount of his powers, pushes, and when he does, they shake in the wind. Pleased with himself, he takes his time looking around town, browsing the shops and dallying about the carts that line the streets.

The city is known for her healers, those who create potions, ointments, and elixirs from the natural ingredients that live in the forest of Hartcaster to her north. Sehun lets his fingers dance over the many bottles and vials, all shapes, colors, and sizes, and the woman who works the stand informs him of their varying effects. 

“This’n,” she says, pointing at a slim beaker filled with a cloudy, light blue drink, “will bring a man calm within a minute. The most peaceful you’ve ever felt, I swear it, sir.” 

“And this?” Sehun asks, holding up a glittering purple vial with a red wax seal acting as a stopper. 

“For _passion_.” She grins at him, stares him up and down, and he laughs. “No need for it? No, I thought not.” 

“What about… this?” 

Sehun holds up the bottle of green elixir, emerald like the grass oceans of Mulvilla. 

“A cure-all,” she tells him. “Whatever ails you, by the gods, it shall be cured.” 

_What of a broken heart? What say you then?_

He does not chance it, simply buys up all the stock she’s got before he turns to the tavern for his meal.  
  


♔

Sandswallow is four suns away, and Sehun savors each hungrily. Too many people have passed him by now, and the faces all bleed together in a sea of nothing. Even though Baekhyun is all he can think of in his time alone, at least there is the quietness, the silence of the night around him. He is free to dream with no one, not even himself, able to judge himself for it.

He remembers the way Baekhyun’s lips tasted. The way his eyes always told the truth. He loved him. Didn’t he? He must have. It was so much. So much that he could barely see through it. And he loved him. He did. Sehun knows it to be true. But he doesn’t like it. Not a bit.  
  


♔

It is the last vestige of green before the long desert, and Sehun prepares himself as best he can. Sometimes, still, he is plagued by nightmares of the deserts of Yeol, and he cannot imagine the sands of Flatfire, famed for their cruelty, to be much kinder. But he’s bought masks, clothes that folk say will protect him on his journey, and when he leaves them, he leaves his life in their hands.

When it is time to put the horse into the stable, he pets her nose, thanks her for her work. He would have never made it so far without someone carrying him, and when he turns his back on her, he feels as if he is turning his back on a partner. 

It is a slow walk to Hwajae, and all he has is time to think, think, think.  
  


♔

Sehun approaches the bounds of Mulvilla, prepares himself emotionally for the final leg, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees… a figure. As he gets closer and closer, the image of an elderly woman gets clearer and clearer.

He sees her rested against a weeping cherry tree just as he’s about to cross into the official territory, and the way the lands change is scary, from deciduous trees and grass to reddened sands. Nothing for miles. But the tree cries, light pink petals falling over her. 

She is touching her ankle, wincing in pain, and Sehun approaches her slowly. She’s got a bag, a thick leather pack, and next to her on the ground, there’s a walking stick, a curved, carved staff that looks weathered and well-used. 

“W-Well met,” he says, and she looks up at him quickly. She has light brown eyes, white hair tied back in a low bun, and she is wrapped in lilac robes, embroidered with white roses. “Are you well? Do you need assistance?” 

“Well met,” she says. “I am… I am not so well as I used to be, I’m afraid.” 

He immediately sets his bags down, crouches down next to her. 

 

“Is it your leg?” He reaches out slowly, touches her carefully. “Does it hurt?” 

“Yes,” she says, and she shuts her eyes, smiles. “But that is of no matter now. Now that you’re here.” 

He furrows his brow in confusion, and she reaches out, covers his hand with her own. 

“I might have something in my bag to help,” he says, and he tries to turn, tries to go fetch a few of the healing elixirs. At the very least, he might be able to bandage her up, return her to town on his back if she’ll let him. 

“I need no help.” It shocks him, and he looks up at her, sure that his shock registers on his face. She laughs, pats his hand. “Don’t look so confused, child.” 

“I can help, though!” He stands up. Digs through his bags until he finds the green vial, murky and opaque. “See, I’ve got—” 

“I will not make it,” she says. And he nearly drops the vial, nearly lets it shatter on the forest floor. He fumbles with it, barely keeps it in his hand. “It’s all right. You don’t need to worry about me. This is where I will die.” 

This, Sehun cannot accept. He will not let someone languish when he is perfectly capable of aiding them. 

“No.” He unscrews the cap, holds it to her mouth. “Just drink it.” 

She rolls her eyes with a laugh, lets him tip the vial over, the green elixir swallowed down with a gulp. “Ugh. Where did you find such a vile elixir?” 

“O-Oh, um, over in Nogtown?” Sehun offers. “They’ve got plenty of healing items, specific tonics for all sorts of things. Headaches, and… and stomachaches.” 

She laughs, rests her head back against the trunk of the tree. “Yes, I’m sure they have.” 

“It is not so far,” Sehun says. “Nogtown. It’s not! I could carry you to Sandswallow! And then to Nogtown after a rest! They’ve plenty of healers there. Talented people! They could help. I’m sure of it.” 

She laughs again, this time lighter, and it comes with a cough on its tail. He pats her gently on the back, and she smiles up at him. 

“What’s your name?” she asks. 

“Sehun.” 

“Sehun,” she says. “This is where I will die. I was meant to die here.” 

“N-No,” he says. “It’s… I can help, I swear it to you.” 

“Swear all you like. There are times when you cannot help.” She closes her eyes, her long, grey eyelashes fanned against the tops of her happy cheeks. “There are times when you must accept fate. Fate comes for us all.” 

For some strange reason, it feels like a rejection, that kind that builds in your bones like stiffness. Sehun wants to… wants to struggle against it. Wants to fight. Isn’t that what you’re meant to do? Fight? 

“So it’s all just destiny? There’s nothing we can do to change the way things go?” 

“That’s not what I said,” she says, wagging her finger at him. “Don’t put words in my mouth, young one.” 

“T-Then what?” 

“I only mean… you must learn to accept the things you cannot change.” He folds his legs underneath him, sits by her side as she takes his hand in hers. “There is great wisdom in that. Don’t you think?” 

He pouts. “Yes, I suppose.” 

“Good boy,” she says, and she leans her head back once more, moans in pain. “Oh, this bag of bones has lasted much longer than it was meant to. I’m ready.” 

How could anyone be ready for such a thing? He’s felt close on multiple occasions now, and each time, it feels like he is clinging to the earth, his fingernails soiled as he claws his hands deep into the dirt. 

“I’ll stay with you,” Sehun says. “So that you aren’t alone.” 

She laces his fingers with his, squeezes his hand until he looks at her. 

“Sweet boy,” she says. “We’re never alone.” 

The woman goes quiet, steadying her breathing, and Sehun thinks about ways to comfort her. He’s never been the best at this sort of thing, but he’s got plenty of food now. And food always tastes best when it’s shared. 

He grabs a few of the chewy citrus candies from his bag, unwraps a few and puts them into her hand. “They’re very good. From Lemont. It’s a miracle I still have some left. Have you ever been there?”

She laughs like he’s told her a joke, throwing her head back. “I’ve been there many, many times.” She puts a candy into her mouth, smiles as she chews through it. “Did you pass it on your way here?” 

“Yes,” Sehun says. “They’re all very friendly there.” He smiles as he thinks of their kindness. 

“You give people reason to be friendly,” she says, folding her hands back into her lap. “You are very kind.” 

“I’m only—” 

“You don’t need to argue with every compliment you receive.” 

He lowers his head with a smile. “No, I suppose not.” 

“Good boy,” she praises again, and she takes another of the candies. “And where are you going, Sehun, in your travels?” 

“To Flatfire,” he says. 

She does not react as others have, with horror and awe. She merely stares back at him with unimpressed eyes, looking him up and down. “In that get-up?” 

Sehun plays with the hem of his robe. “What’s wrong with it?” 

“You look like you’re going to a ball,” she says, and she plays with the draped arms of his robe. “You fanciful boy. So pretty.” 

He smiles, takes the ribbing. “I thought it might come in handy. Just in case I needed to charm a few people.” 

She squints her eyes as she smiles at him, like she’s figured him out already. And that’s fine with him. He is an open book. _Leaf through my pages, if you’d like._

“You are quite charming,” she says. “But you’ve met those who have not been charmed so easily or at all, haven’t you? What of them?” 

Sehun thinks back to the people who opposed him in the Bichwood. They were few, far between, but they stained him, left a mark on him. He convinced himself that he was only doing what was necessary to protect himself, but didn’t he revel in his ascension to power? Didn’t he bask in it like stepping into the warm sun? 

He is reminded, in that moment, of the cruel things Baekhyun wrote into his diaries. The way the power corrupted him so quickly. Is he destined for the same fate? _No_ , he thinks. _No. Not me._

The woman touches him on the hand carefully before patting him on the knee. 

“You are not him,” she says. “You are not his past.” 

He looks at her in wonder, and she stares into his eyes. Can she hear everything he thinks? 

“Yes,” she smiles. 

He cannot process it fast enough, can’t think before the question tumbles out of his mouth. 

“W-Who are you?” 

“Ah,” she says, and she brushes a stray hair away from his face, “that doesn’t quite matter, does it?”

She brushes her hand against his face suddenly, and Sehun feels a strange warmth in him. Not the bright, golden light he’s come to associate with his power, but...but something else. Something sweeter. The edges of it are rounded, soft, and Sehun looks at her, tries to understand where the feeling is coming from. It is magical, to be sure, but there is a maternal warmth, a… a love long forgotten. 

_Of course it matters_ , he thinks, too slow to stop himself. 

She chuckles, pats him on the knee again. “You sound just like him. Just like I remember him. Stubborn as anything. Set in your ways. But you are teaching people to bend. Soon, you’ll both learn the lesson as well.” 

“Are you a grandmother?” he asks. “You sound like a grandmother.” 

“Of sorts.” She smiles down at her knees, like she’s remembering kids running around her, circling her ankles. “Of course, things were different when I was young. I had so many children.” 

He lets his imagination run wild, thoughts of a little home, overrun with life. With laughter. Children are messy and sweet and worth it, and someday, Sehun would like to have some of his own. Once things have settled. Once his mission is through. 

“I know that face,” she says. “You’d like to be a father?” 

“Perhaps.” He can’t help but smile, thinking of it. A little boy or girl, swaddled in the softest cottons. He’s never known much of children, but he would very much like to learn. “Was it hard, being a mother?” 

“Ah, once upon a time,” she says, and her wrinkles fold as she smiles cheerily at him. 

“You were the ones they talked about, weren’t you?” Sehun asks. “The Mother?” 

“They called me that once. A long, long time ago. I was stronger then. I could protect them. My greatest regret was with you. I had to let you go before it was time.”

Sehun shuts his eyes as she holds him by the hand. Tries to remember her. Tries to remember the way her hands smelled of soil, soft like the bottom of the river. Fresh baked bread and flowers in endless fields. She was everything, everything and more, and she gave him life. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I owe you more, but… but take my apology.” 

“No,” he says. “If anything had changed, I wouldn’t be where I am. By your side.” 

She smiles at him, and he feels so young again. 

“You are a good boy. Do not forget that. You haven’t yet. I pray you never will.” 

He gets to his knees, and he leans in for an embrace. Her body is so fragile, so small, so he hugs her gently, comforted by the words she whispers into his ear. 

“Be smart, young one,” the woman says. “Don’t go through the fire lands unless you’re prepared.” 

“I am,” he assures her. “I’ve prepared well.” 

“Are you quite sure?” 

“I-I don’t know,” Sehun says, and he stares into her eyes, sees the oceans and the skies, the earth and the molten lava lying beneath. 

She pats his cheek, smiles at him. 

“In small doubts, there is much strength,” she says, and she takes his hands in hers, pats them. “Too much doubt, though… you’ve no need for it. You are strong. You will overcome. This is your fate. This is your destiny.” 

Fate, destiny. He can’t turn his back of such things, even if he wanted to. 

“T-Thank you.” And he squeezes her hand in his. 

He cannot look away from her eyes, from the warmth and the comfort, and he would stay here forever if he could. If there wasn’t something driving him forward. 

The woman is slow to withdraw her hands from his, and she turns back to her bag, rummages in it for a moment before turning back, putting three small vials in his hands. 

“And here,” she says, “use them well. They will protect you from the flames. If you journey quickly, they will keep you safe all the way from here to Flatfire.” 

He stares down at the vials, and he is mesmerized by them. The bottles are curved at the bottoms, the glass crystal clear to display the shimmering orange liquid inside. The sparkles are golden, and it reminds Sehun of the vials of oils Baekhyun used to use for bathing. He puts the memory away, tries to push the elixirs back into the woman’s hands. 

“I can’t take these,” Sehun says. “I’ve done nothing to earn them.” 

“Sure you’ve done.” She smiles at him, pushing them back to him, his hands bumping against his chest. “You listened to an old woman’s story. That’s payment enough.” 

“It isn’t, I’ve…,” Sehun argues, but she just keeps pushing them toward him. For a moment, he is surprised at her strength, but after a moment of fighting between them, he laughs, attempts to bury it. “All right, all right. You don’t have to push.” 

“If I hadn’t pushed, you wouldn’t have taken them.” 

“I’m not _that_ stubborn.” 

“You are,” she says. “And that’s why you will make it to where you are destined to go.” 

But Sehun has much doubt in his heart, even with all the determination coursing through him. Will it be enough? Will he make it? 

He stands, looks down on her small body, and he feels an immense guilt flowing through his veins. He cannot leave her. He shouldn’t. 

“Call me mother,” she says. “Just once before you go.” 

Sehun clears his throat, blinks away tears that shouldn’t be there. 

“All right,” Sehun says. “Thank you, Mother.” 

She closes her eyes, smiles to herself. 

“Thank you, son,” she says, and she nudges him with her good foot. “Off with you now. Before you lose the light of day.”

“Thank you again,” he says with a smile, struck by his luck. “My, what a fortunate occurrence.” 

“You think I would leave something like this to fortune? Never.” Her smile looks like suns setting, and Sehun feels a sinking in his stomach when he realizes that this is farewell, forever. 

What would it have been like, to grow with someone like her? To learn from her? He already feels like a better version of himself, a more _whole_ version of himself. What he wouldn’t give for another day, another sennight. Another year. 

“Do not cry for time lost,” she says. “There is much before you. Take it. You deserve it.” 

He hugs her close before he leaves, hiking his bag onto his back and waving. She shoos him away with a grin, and he faces the red sands, the great waste of land ahead of him. 

After he’s crossed back into the Fire Hills, the desert sands under his feet, he turns back, hopes to see her smiling face just one last time. But when he turns, the woman is gone, nothing left of her where she once sat. 

All that remains are the swirling petals of the weeping cherry tree, and they spin, dancing through the air.  
  


♔

The elixir tastes like peppers, and it is a struggle to choke it down, even though he knows he needs to. He chases after the taste with water, but the peppery taste sticks in his throat, a coating along the insides of his mouth. He moves forward after tucking the glass vial back into his pack carefully.

He wears scarves over much of his face through the Fire Hills, and he does not pause to marvel in the sheer beauty of the land before him. The woman told him to be quick, and so he obeys her words, makes sure to keep a steady clip, even as the flames dance in the distance. 

It is madness, lunacy, but Sehun trudges forward through the hot sand, unable to bite back the memories of Yeol. His heart shattering into glass when Baekhyun, wrapped in a glamor, died in his arms. It should have been the end of them, but there was so much left to learn. So much life ahead of them. 

He wants to forgive. He knows, deep within himself, that Baekhyun will be the last piece of the puzzle. But he does not think himself strong enough yet. And maybe, despite destiny, despite fate, maybe he never will be. 

Fires rise and fall along the horizon. They wave, curling fingers of liquid glass in the distance. Six suns. That’s all he has to do. Six suns of it. And if it’s all for naught, then at least he died trying.  
  


♔

His mouth has never been drier, and it is a great discomfort to him as he tries to continue moving. Everything tastes like dirt and sand, and truly, he wishes he’d simply written a letter. With one snap of his fingers, Jongin could have brought him anywhere, any lands, any waters.

But no. He would have never agreed to it. And Chanyeol’s words ring in Sehun’s ears: _Who could blame him?_

How will he be able to bond those two souls back together again, after so much has transpired between them? How do you sew through despair, through hurt so deep you cannot see the bottom of it? How do you patchwork a quilt that has been torn to shreds, fed to fire? How long has it been since they’ve spoken? Have they grown past it? Have they become different people? Has their love been lost to time? 

Perhaps there is no way to mend such a thing. Perhaps the only way to heal is to move forward. To learn what forgiveness takes. 

It is strength, kindness, and most of all, mercy.  
  


♔

Sehun makes camp each night, and he takes his suppers inside the tent. Dread sometimes rises to the surface of him much like the flames rise from the earth, but it is not enough to chase him away from his goal. Still, he cannot overstate the rage of this place, eyes on the horizon line as the fires start spontaneously, and he hopes, prays that they keep their distance. Sehun feels the fires, the heat of them, but it is a faroff kind of feeling. Like the memory of hot waters. Of steam. The elixirs work well, and they do their job to keep it all at bay.

The elixirs do not, however, keep the sand from his skin or from his mouth, and he ends up drinking more and more water simply to wash it all away, to keep himself clean. He longs for a bath, for a bed of down and soft pillows under his head, and when he falls asleep, it is to the world quaking with fear, her flames unable to be tamed.  
  


♔

He is awoken by a horrible sensation: the creeping of heat. His eyes snap open, and starting at his feet, his robe is singed with fire, the threads of the fabric beginning to disappear as he lies there, horrified.

Sehun springs into action, patting out the fire, but as he tries, it spreads to a sleeve, and he realizes he was supposed to take the second vial. Clumsily, he scrambles across the tent, digs into his bag for the vials. He tosses various items across the tent, food and waterskins, and _finally_ , chest heaving as he tries to keep himself calm, he finds one of the orange elixirs. 

He pulls the cap off with reckless abandon, chokes the stuff down despite the fire that slips down his throat, and then, in the blink of an eye, the fire is extinguished, put out, nothing but smoke left curling into the air above him. 

He collapses back to his sheets, trying to steady his breath, but for a while, it just won’t come. Sehun chokes through the fiery taste in his mouth, laughing as he attempts to get a hold of himself, and though he shouldn’t, he imagines the look on Baekhyun’s face if he were to see him now. What would he say? How would he playfully scold Sehun? Would he lean down to kiss the flames away from Sehun’s mouth?

His breathing falls back to normal, and he shakes the thought from his head. Whatever Baekhyun would or wouldn’t do, none of it matters. Or if it does matter, it _shouldn’t_.  
  


♔

With every passing sun, he gains confidence. There are little things he learns about the land, one being the signs of the firestorms. When the clouds of red and orange swirl in the sky, whipping the sands into a frenzy, he knows that they are coming. He watches them split through the land, divide it all up into sand and lava, and he wonders just how tame this place could be if Chanyeol felt even an ounce of peace within his heart. Would it calm the earth underfoot?

The sunsets are so beautiful in this kingdom, and he watches them eagerly. Reds, oranges, yellows, and occasionally a violet or magenta like a furious allure bidding him closer and closer. As the third sun dips beneath the crisp line of the world, he goes to his tent, eats. Sleeps, and he dreams.  
  


♔

_He is in cold dirt, and he cannot see past the soil. There are flowers growing from his fingertips, unfurling buds of white, yellow, and red, and they stretch open as water seeps in from above. Ah, he thinks, the cool waters of a home I cannot grow in. Sehun drinks from the earth, mouth wet, and his body is a garth, the vines and leaves stretching green throughout him, curling around his bones, sprouting from his seeds. His eyes are purple irises, centers dotted with yellow and white, and he can’t see through the flower petals; they cloud his vision._

_It’s then that he is unearthed, a corpse of flowers dug from the clutches of the great mother, his skin printed with ivy. The sun shines upon his skin, and the flowers bloom, bloom, bloom along him until he is nothing but petals, nothing but a garden. A feast for fawns._   
  


♔

Sehun gasps awake, shaking as the pictures continue to flit through his eyes. He cannot shake the images, and he shuts his eyes tight, squeezes them so all he sees is black and stars.

Eventually, it passes, but as he walks, all he can think of is the bright white of the sky shining down upon him. The delicious feeling of the sun on his skin… as if he yearned for it. 

The sun does not feel as delicious as it had in the dream, neither here nor in the palace. He puts it from his mind, buries it under the hot sand. 

He walks across the sands, a desert seemingly without end, and he stares, eyes tired. He wishes he could have taken just a sip from his dream. Cold water, the way it slips down your throat, settles in a chill in the bottom of your stomach. Sehun shivers at the thought. How nice it will be once he has it again. 

He eats, approaches the end of his rations. He keeps them well cared for, dried meats wrapped in cloth, jars of honey to preserve the fruits. The sweetness goes down easily, as does the warm water, but his head aches. There is too much light. Too much fire here. Maybe it was not in his best interest to come. _Then again_ , he thinks, _when have I ever acted in my own best interest?_

Sehun takes his final vial from his bag at the close of the fourth sun, and peeking through the curtain of his tent, he looks to the castle, far, far in the distance. Suddenly, a horrid thought streaks across his mind, a smear of color like the end of the day. 

What if he does not make it? What if it isn’t enough? 

He will hurry. He promises himself, promises Chanyeol, promises all eight then and there. He will do whatever it takes to mend the past. He will fix whatever is broken. He will find the golden warm light within himself. He will take the power in his hand, caress it gently with his fingertips, and he will satisfy fate, whatever she demands of him.  
  


♔

In the last two days of his journey, he moves closer and closer to the infamous hills, the ones that spit at the sky, the tallest flames he’s ever seen. Columns, thick and wide like the toothed jaws of some horrible monster, stretch on and on. He swallows what little spit the clime allows him as he walks, trudging through warm sands, and the grit stays on what little skin he bares, stuck to sweat.

He rubs along the skin, and it feels like the sanding stone. Where has his softness gone? Where, too, has his purity gone? 

He confesses it to himself: it was stolen by the thief who walks in pure sunlight, the effulgent light of fiery morns.  
  


♔

He walks, and his legs ache. Sehun rubs at his calves and his feet, and he worries. Is this some fever, some illness that the flames breathe? It licks at his lungs, and he breathes out ash, ash and smoke. With only one more sun, he gets to his knees among the cotton blankets, clasps his hands together, lacing them, squeezing tightly.

Sehun rummages in his bag, grabs a spare bottle of the green cure-all from Nogtown, and when he uncaps it, swigs it down, it tastes like freezing mint. It stings the back of his throat, and his hands come to brace his neck, the pain that simmers along it like acid. It hurts, hurts like blisters as it works, and he nearly bites through his lip to stifle the cry that stalks him. 

He does not know to whom he prays, but he hopes that they answer him. 

“Please,” he gasps, and when he speaks, it comes with a cough. “P-Please,” and he sobs a noise into his forearm, a milky spot of greenish-black left behind. “Let me live.” 

He does not know whether he begs for his own sake, or the sake of eight, but either way, he begs, a familiarity now that tastes like home.  
  


♔

On the sixth day, the palace of Flatfire grows, and he sees the black glass roads, winding, calling to him. He pushes himself as hard as he can, feet moving through the sliding sands. The closer he gets, the more enticing the picture becomes, and he can barely bite back a smile as he walks, even with the burning feeling in his lungs. He has come so far, and he will make it. He will survive again, another day. Another dawn.

The world shakes underfoot, and his feet stutter as he holds himself balanced. He stays in place, stops dead in his tracks as he waits for the earth to settle. 

But settle it does not. 

Instead, the world stretches its legs so mightily that the trembles send Sehun to his seat, hands in the sand, eyes wide as he realizes what begins to swallow him whole. The hills themselves. The fires. 

He scrambles to his feet, hiking his pack up further onto his back before he starts to move as fast as he can, and his heart pounds in his ears as the sands begin to rise alongside him. He looks in horror as he runs, the walls of fire sprouting up like trunks of trees except larger, more dense even, the sparks and spots of glass flying as he keeps himself covered, keeps his eyes low. 

If he could just make it to Flatfire, if he could just make it to the black glass road, surely, he would be safe. He tries with all his might, even sends for winds to propel him forward, by the longer he calls upon them, the worse the fires get, and soon, the walls begin to slide shut, slick along the sand floor. Begin to surround him. 

Then, a tremor the likes of which Sehun has never heard of or seen, let alone _felt_ ripples through the world, and he is left to deal with its repercussions. 

Again, the shocks send him to the sand, and Sehun looks behind him, sees a wall of liquid flame. Then, he looks directly in front of him, sees the way the flames knit together. Mending the hole between them.

The fires begin to close in around him, and he tries to fly, starts to shove off the ground with a leap to try to shock himself into flight, but nothing seems to work. He focuses it all against the ground, _push, push, push_ , but the winds do not come to him then. He is forlorn, and the liquid fires rise around him, great blazing columns shivering in the red sky. They tremble forward, and he is surrounded by black smoke that curls and hangs in the air. 

He looks around him, sees the circle of fire, sands turned to liquid glass, and there is only one way out. A narrow gap closing before him, close enough that he could run for it. His lungs ache for fresh air, and he can barely think. _Go,_ he tells himself. _Move._

Sehun runs as fast as he can for the closing egress, an arm thrown over his mouth and nose as he attempts to escape with his life. He is too far. He won’t make it, he realizes, and just as the thought crosses his mind, the fires snap closed, and he is totally surrounded, the tall flames in a perfect circle around him. 

_Now,_ he thinks. _Now is the time._

But as he calls the winds, as he demands they come to him, rescue him, lift him on high, the world spirals in the flames, the fires sparkling white and blue as they go hotter and hotter. The more he calls them, the higher the flames go, the hotter they go, and he feels them creep in, tighter and tighter around him, the hot hands wrapped around his throat as he chokes through ash and smoke. 

He curls himself small, sitting on his heels as the sands shrink around him, each little bit going to liquid fire as they grow, unfurling limbs, slithering ever closer. The bottoms of his robes start to catch, start to smoke, and oh, it is over. He has finally reached his end. 

Sehun shuts his eyes, tries to feel peace settle inside him. But no. There is no peace. He was not meant to die here. He was not meant to languish in this place. He was… he was supposed to unite them. He was supposed to be the bond between nine. The keystone. Wasn’t he?

His faith shakes in his final moments. Tears leak from the corners of his eyes, and he screams, a broken and strangled sound escaping him like the rattle of death, and it booms up to the sky, the wind sweeping it up and out. 

He collapses to the ground, exhausted by the effort, and the fires are a moment away from scorching him, bubbling his skin to blister and char. It was so foolish. He knew he was foolish. But in all of it, no matter what, he trusted. He never stopped trusting. And perhaps that was his greatest flaw of all. 

The sand is his pyre as the flames consume everything before them, an insatiable hunger that cannot be sated. In those last thoughts, his mind goes to Baekhyun, and behind his eyelids, he can still see his smiling face, the glimmering gold of his eyes, the red of his lips. If only Sehun could kiss him once more, if only Sehun could… touch him. Speak to him. Tell him— 

A break in the wall feels like a burst of cool air, a gasping breath, and Sehun looks, everything in him drawn to it.

Chanyeol bursts through the fires, his hands parting the liquid glass like he’s parting curtains of silk. Sehun chokes, coughs as he laughs, watching Chanyeol stalk across the sands. 

Like a phoenix, he descends upon Sehun, the long red silk of his cape sheltering Sehun, protecting him from the fires that surely would have burned him alive with just a second more. 

Sehun squeezes his eyes shut tight, the world dark around him now, and Chanyeol holds him close. Sehun shivers as he hears the flames roar. He covers his ears, and soon, the only thing he can hear is Chanyeol’s whispering, his gentle voice murmuring something that sounds like a prayer. 

The fires roar, fight against him, and Chanyeol works, Sehun can _hear_ him working, and then, within a moment or two, the flames die, falling back down to the earth, buried beneath the sands, now completely shiny and black. Solid glass. 

When Chanyeol gets back to his feet, Sehun lowers his hands from his ears, opens his eyes to the most brilliant light he’s ever seen. Chanyeol’s head blocks the sun from his eyes, but the world is still so intensely ablaze that Sehun has to squint at him as he looks up. 

“What in the _world_ are you doing here?” Chanyeol asks, and the flames gather along his robes, spread from his back and his arms like wings of a bird. “Are you stupid? Are you _mad_?” 

Sehun tries his best to speak, but the only thing that comes out of his mouth is black ash. He spits out what he can onto the small circle of sand around him, but he is breathing heavily, trying to get more air into him. His body is screaming for it, begging him, and he tries his best to oblige, sucking down wind as quickly as he can. 

“What _exactly_ was your plan here, hm?” Chanyeol scolds him. “Get swallowed up by the fires?” 

“No,” Sehun says, and he coughs out a thick black smoke into his hands, staining them. “I guess I didn’t have much of a plan other than get to you. And… I suppose now my mission’s accomplished.” 

He stares up at Chanyeol’s beautiful eyes, the golden fires alight in him, and he smiles. Chanyeol looks up, stomps his foot a bit, and the fires die around his body. 

Chanyeol crouches beside him once more, gathering him up into his embrace. Sehun is shocked by the comfort. He buries his face into Chanyeol’s shoulder. Nuzzles against it as a tear falls from his eye.

“You’re such a fool. Such a _stupid boy_. The biggest fool in the known world.” Chanyeol sits back, brushes the hair away from Sehun’s face with much affection. “But after so long, it is so good to see you.” 

Sehun closes his eyes, the warmth in Chanyeol’s arms somehow comforting amidst all the terrible, terrible heat. 

Chanyeol mounts his horse, Sehun nearly too weak to stand on his own, but Chanyeol is gentle as he helps Sehun on. Finally settled, Sehun rests his eyes for just a moment, his forehead on Chanyeol’s back.  
  


♔

Sehun wakes to his body jostling. Quickly, he sits up straight, his head pounding, and he studies his surroundings. No fires. Just sand, sand, more sand besides. He looks up in the sky, sees the brutal sun staring down at them, distant licks of fire in the distance, but around them, there is nothing but sand. Amber sands.

“Awake now?” Chanyeol asks, and he pats Sehun’s hands around his middle. “Nearly died back there. What’s with you? Such a penchant for drama.”

He’s heard that before, about Baekhyun, and he’s tired… tired of being compared. Aren’t such things unearned? Sehun’s never been so cruel. Sehun’s never been so dishonest. 

“You’re the one with the land of eternal fire,” Sehun says, and his voice is hoarse, rough with the smoke. He coughs, chokes out a little more ash. “Isn’t that the real penchant for drama?” 

Chanyeol smirks, and Sehun studies it closely. 

“We’ll be arriving soon, so take your rest. It won’t be much longer now. And you’ll feel much better with a cold bath, I think.” 

Sehun shuts his eyes once more, dreams of the chill creeping through his bones. 

“Thank you,” Sehun mutters, and he hugs his arms weakly around Chanyeol’s body. 

“You’re quite welcome.”  
  


♔

Sehun hears when they finally hit the black glass road, the musical clop of the horse’s hooves along it cheerful despite the ache in his chest and head. He keeps his eyes open even though he is tired. There is much to see, after all.

Flatfire is the capital city of Hwajae Hills, and it is entirely built from that same black glass, etched with crosshatched lines, runes of protection, of powerful magic. Chanyeol says that they were carved long ago when Hwajae was first built. 

“They were men made of pure fire,” Chanyeol says. “Breathed fire.” Sehun snorts, but Chanyeol smacks his hands as penance. “They _did_! It was thousands of years ago. And I… they were my ancestors, I think. I think in some ways, we’re linked.” 

When magic died, Sehun thinks it must have been a tragic thing. It is no wonder, then, that people flocked to the eight of them. Wanted to take them, use them. Maybe… maybe find ways to take the magic for their own. Chanyeol must have been so scared, coming here as a child. It must have scared them all, seeing one of their own taken. 

They protected Sehun. Even if Sehun didn’t see it, they did. 

By the time they arrive in the city, shops are closing, and there are few people wandering the streets, but the ones who do are wrapped in scarves, veils, masks, the type that remind him of Yeol, and their clothing reminds Sehun of the Bichwood. The fabrics look thin like silk, but not shiny, not reflecting light. Perhaps a light cotton, and all of them look to be white or a light cream color. 

“Best for the sun,” Chanyeol says. “Once we get you settled, I’ll make sure you don’t look so out of place.” 

The castle is foreboding, almost terrifying as Sehun looks up at it. It glimmers and shines, even in the pretty twilight, and as they climb the many, many steps, his limbs ache. He studies the architecture, the intricate spires and arches and domes of the castle, and he wonders who built such a magnificent place. Who could have designed and executed such a thing? 

He tries to ask, but he ends up coughing, a cloud of sparkling green and black smoke from his lungs, and Chanyeol laughs at him. 

“Anyone else, and you would be long gone, I fear,” Chanyeol says. “If you had any doubt as to the immensity of your power, consider this reassurance. You are strong.” 

A groom waits at the steps of the enormous castle, and when they leap to the ground, the boy takes the horse away. Then, Chanyeol takes Sehun’s hand, pulling him up the steps. It is one short flight before the doors, and they swing open, revealing the most wondrous sight. 

Across the room, the only thing not built entirely of glass is a white stone fireplace, so tall that Sehun can’t possibly see the top of its chimney. Bathed in warm red firelight, the hearth of the palace sits front and center, hot amidst all the heat but comforting all the same. Sehun steps further towards it, intrigued by the feeling that steeps in him, and it only grows as he gets closer to it. 

“W-What is it?” Sehun asks, reaching out, holding out both his hands to the flames. “I feel—” 

He feels light, feels so strangely strong. Just a moment before, he’d felt so weak, so ill. And now… now, all he feels is _good_. It is delicious as it surges through him. A soothing warmth. All is calm and well. He closes his eyes, and all he can see is Baekhyun’s face. The beauty of his love, it glides along the surface of Sehun’s skin. It would be so very nice to feel it once more. 

“It is holy fire,” Chanyeol says. “One of my many talents. It’s cleansing. Rids you of ailments and pain for as long as you stand in its light. Don’t get too close, though.” Chanyeol takes Sehun’s bicep in his hand, pulling him away from the sweet fires. “The flames do burn the same as regular flames.” 

Sehun marvels at the palace as Chanyeol drags him off, and the carvings are so intricate, so small, so complicated and detailed and _sharp_ that Sehun nearly gasps when he thinks about the power, the energy, the time it must have taken. The lines are squared off, wrapping in on themselves in a labyrinth of complex design, and they go on and on, spiraling into forever as they walk through the halls, the palace large, the people fluttering about. 

“To what purpose?” Sehun asks as Chanyeol rearranges his hold, linking an arm through Sehun’s. Chanyeol cocks an eyebrow at him as they walk, his question silent. “The flames.” 

“Ah,” Chanyeol says, and he gently guides Sehun to an open room, the blocked floor of black glass strange and cold. “The purpose? Mercy.” He kneels before Sehun, strips him of his boots, putting them to the side before resting his hands on Sehun’s feet. “It is… it is a painless death.” 

“Oh,” Sehun says, and he can’t think of anything else to say, not as Chanyeol stands and not as Chanyeol walks to leave. 

He pauses by the archway to the bath, a hand on the runed wall. “Bathe for as long as you like. I’ll have clothes laid out for you, and when you’re finished, simply ask anyone you see to fetch me.” 

“All right,” Sehun says, and he bows his head to Chanyeol. “Thank you.” 

“For this hospitality?” Chanyeol snorts. “Think nothing of it, brother.” 

It is said like it's nothing, but Sehun takes it to heart all the same.  
Chanyeol turns from the room, leaves Sehun to strip from his clothes. He folds them gently, lays them on the floor before stepping down into the cool waters, letting it all settle in his chest, shining, shimmering, and gold.  
  


♔

He takes a longer bath than he normally would, practically revels in it as he soaks. The water is not too crisp that it is painful, just cool enough that he can feel the fires chip away from him, the layer of heat he wore along his shoulders drowned in the waters. He scrubs the sand away, watches it sink to the bottom of the pool, and he thinks about the person that will have to clean it away. He feels guilty as he steps out of the water, drying himself with a soft cotton towel before he steps into his new clothes.

They are exceedingly light, free-flowing and easy to maneuver in, and he spins in a little circle as he studies the bottom of the gown. The circle of the hem flares at his feet, and he smiles before stepping into the sandals, similar to those he’d worn in Bichwood, the leather straps of them beaten soft. 

He pads out of the room, looks in either direction before he spots a girl, not much younger than him. She has dark eyes, curly hair, and she wears a beautiful yellow gown to compliment her skin, the embroidered flowers and filigrees in green, red, and purple. She smiles as she passes, and he almost forgets what he’s to be doing as he observes her walking down the corridor, a large book in her arms. 

“Um!” he starts, and she turns, bright smile turned back on him once more. He bows before her, standing back up straight before he speaks again. “I’m sorry to interrupt your work, it’s just that I—”

“It is no trouble,” she says. “Are you Sehun?” 

“Y-Yes,” he says, and he sticks out his hand to shake hers before he realizes she’s got her arms full. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“And you, well met,” she says. “May I be of service to you?” 

“Y-Yes, if you could simply point me in the direction of the Fire God.” 

She laughs, and she turns back, starts to walk in the direction from which she came. “Follow me, then. He’s always in the solarium at this time of night.” 

She is an excellent guide, navigating through the winding halls of the palace as he traipses behind her. Although she is much shorter than he, he needs to keep to a quick clip as she walks fast. Before he knows it, he is in the most beautiful place he’s ever seen, more beautiful than even the hearth. It is a garden of green amidst the black palace, and he hears the most beautiful melody floating in the air. 

“He is just through there,” she says, pointing through the archway of flowers, and when Sehun steps through, he sees Chanyeol sitting behind a harp, plucking at it with his fingertips. 

The music soars into the open air, and Sehun watches, mesmerized as he works, pulling the songs of heaven down to their ears. He stands there for a while, simply observing as Chanyeol rests his head along the shoulder of the instrument, eyes closed as he creates. It must be a song well known to him, the movements practiced and sure, but Sehun doesn’t know it. It is haunting, sad, but so very pretty. 

When the song ends, Chanyeol shudders through a breath, eyes opening, and immediately, his gaze lands upon Sehun. 

“I—” 

“I told you to have someone fetch me,” Chanyeol says, and he quickly stands, pushing back from the instrument before petting his gown down along his body as if to rid it of wrinkles that do not exist. 

“Did you intend to hide such a place of beauty from me?” Sehun asks, and he stares at the vines, the heads of the flowers, shining with dew under the moonlight. “Such a wondrous sight?” 

“Of course not, I only thought it might be… a bit much for your first day.” He crosses to Sehun, hands on his shoulders. “Look at you. As gorgeous as ever.” 

“Such flattery, and I’ve only just arrived.” 

“You inspire flattery at every turn,” Chanyeol says, and he reaches up, plays with the lengthening ends of Sehun’s hair. “If you wanted less of it, simply be less handsome.” 

“I try,” Sehun smiles. “But someone always manages to find me when I’m wandering through the deserts.” 

Chanyeol winces, nods in understanding. “That is true. You looked… less than ideal.” 

Sehun frowns, shoves Chanyeol back as he laughs. 

“Come, come,” Chanyeol says, and he pulls him through the archway of the solarium, back through the halls from whence he came. “It is late, but I’m sure they’ve got dinner for us somewhere in this place.”  
  


♔

They eat in a dining room that has many tables, but the whole room is dark when they enter it.

A well of a dozen candles sits at the off-center of the table, dripping, melding them into one mass of bone-yellow wax and blackened wicks. Their dinner is brought to them upon a plate of silver, and once the plate is placed before them, dead center, Chanyeol simply looks at the candles, lights them wordlessly, without even a motion or a snap of his fingers. Sehun looks to the serving, studies the food before them. 

“Is it not to your liking?” Chanyeol asks, a tilt of his head. 

“It’s been a sennight or so since I’ve had anything besides dried meat and honeyed fruit,” Sehun says as he looks at the flatbread that the dish is served upon. “It smells… smells better than anything in the world at the moment.” 

“The cooks are good here,” and he puffs out his chest with a smile, clearly quite proud of them. 

And Sehun can see why. The aromatic onion and garlic, spices of chili, ginger, fenugreek… it invades the senses in the most pleasant way, and Sehun can’t hardly wait to begin the meal. Chanyeol looks at him expectantly, and Sehun searches the table for anything to use. 

“I’ve… I’ve not got an instrument,” Sehun says. 

Chanyeol shows him, though, simply rips a piece of the spongy sourdough bread and dips it into the stew before lifting it to his mouth. 

“You’ve got all the instruments you need,” Chanyeol smiles, and it feels like coming home, feels like a communion, one that speaks to his heart. 

They eat quietly, and Sehun does not pause, certainly not, not with the food settling warmly in his stomach. He actually forgets to breathe at one point, nearly choking as Chanyeol laughs. 

“No one will take your plate away from you,” he chides, but Sehun pays him no mind, only actually stopping to wet his mouth once glasses of wine are poured. 

Altogether, it is still a silent meal, and when he is nearly finished, Chanyeol ripping the stew-soaked piece of bread at the table to split between them, he breathes out heavily. 

“Have you a schedule you need to keep?” Chanyeol asks. “You seem… pressed for time.” 

“No,” Sehun says. “No, I’m only—I am wondering how long my presence here will be tolerated, once you find my reason for coming.” 

Chanyeol makes a noise of understanding, swallows thickly. He takes his wine in his hand, swirls it in his cup, and Sehun follows the dark red waves of it. 

“I know your reason. I know it well.” 

And he says nothing more before he pushes back from the table, wine in hand. Sehun scrambles to stand, grabs his own cup before following behind him. 

It is a long walk, two flights of stairs, and Sehun delicately raises the hem of his gown so as not to trip on it. Chanyeol does not look behind him, does not check to make sure Sehun is following him, almost as if he knows Sehun will follow no matter what. And he supposes that it is true. He would. 

When they reach the room, there is a great clear glass door. It is etched masterfully with the depiction of a phoenix rising from flames, and Sehun watches it disappear as Chanyeol slides opens the door, offering Sehun entrance to the room with an arm held out as if he is offering him entry into something deeper, something more intimate. 

This castle as a whole uses Chanyeol’s colors, black and red, but here, in these chambers, Sehun is surrounded by blues of all shades. There are drapings across the windows, and they are deep navy blue. There are hydrangeas by the bedside, and these are light blue, gathered in a vase and the stems tied together with a baby blue ribbon. The pillows across the bed are blue, the soft reclining chairs that sit before him are blue. It’s all blue. Blue. Blue. 

Even standing there feels cool, like bracing winds, and he stares in wonder at the display. It is rich, lavish. Designed, he realizes, for someone else. 

“These will be your personal chambers for as long as you stay.” He points, and Sehun turns, sees through the archway. “There is a private bath just through there.” He points to a cabinet. “More clothes in there. If there’s anything else you require, you need only speak the words and I will have it brought to you.” 

Sehun is momentarily overwhelmed at the grandiosity, at the luxury. It has been a while, of course, since he’s been granted access to such a lovely place. Even in Jongdae’s castle, he was taken to a room of little important. But here—here he feels like he is being spoiled. 

“Chanyeol, I do not require such fine things, such a fine room,” he says, and he folds his hands in his lap. “I’m only here to—” 

Chanyeol takes Sehun’s wine glass from his hand, empties it into his own glass. He tilts his head back as he lets the cup touch his lips, letting the wine slip down his throat until both glasses are empty. He sets them down, turns, and his eyes water. 

“Please. I know what you are here for, Sehun. I know that there is much to discuss,” Chanyeol says as he peels back the covers of the bed. “It is late. You must rest. We will speak about whatever you wish come morning. I swear it.” 

Sehun smiles, almost wants to needle him, ask him to swear it by fire, but there is some weariness in his eyes that Sehun does not want to challenge—at least, not tonight.  
  


♔

He has traveled so far and so wide, it is a struggle to wake and remember that he is in a foreign land, a place where he knows only one person. It does help, of course, that the person he knows is the most important person for hundreds of miles. He smiles to himself before pushing out of bed and padding to the bath.

It is another sulfur bath, perhaps one of the hallmarks of the Hills, a strangely soothing soak, and he washes himself clean, the sweet-smelling soaps running down the drain in a swirl of white once he’s finished. 

Sehun steps into a thin pair of pants before he lets the soft gown fall over his head. It is an incredibly light garment, and it feels very… freeing. He again tests the hem of it, spins in a little circle as he feels the wind curling around his legs. 

In that moment, he is curious; perhaps simply being here will have granted him the power. He focuses on unlocking the gold light in his chest, the one that Jongdae led him to, but it is still so well guarded, chains enclosing it, wrapped tight around it. He pulls at them, tries to force the light to the top of his body, attempts to push it out. But all he feels is a gentle breeze from the palms of his hands that ruffles the clothes laid in the cabinet. 

He shuts the doors to it just as a knock resounds on his door. 

“Y-Yes, come in,” Sehun says, and he turns to face the boy no older than twenty summers who stands by the sliding glass door. 

“My lord bid me to inform you that breakfast is being served downstairs at the eighth bell,” the boy says, and he is dressed in a pale green gown, embroidered lines of dark emerald triangles at the hem. “If you wish to attend, I am happy to escort you.” 

He bows his head, a mop of curly dark hair. 

“Yes, that would be very helpful, thank you,” Sehun says. And when the boy turns, Sehun crosses the room, follows behind him. 

The boy does not speak as they walk down the flights of stairs, does not speak as he leads Sehun to the dining hall once more. But that does not dissuade Sehun from asking. 

“Do you enjoy your life here?” Sehun asks. 

“My lord?” 

“You don’t have to call me that.” 

The boy smiles. “Yes, I do. His lordship… he is kind. Even when his mood is rife with discontent, he treats us kindly.” 

“That’s good,” Sehun smiles. “And the people in the kingdom…” 

“They love him,” the boy says. “But—” 

“But?” 

They stop before the dining hall, and the boy looks around, side to side, before he speaks. 

“But he cries,” the boy says. “My lord tries to hide it well, but for those who tend to his chambers, we hear it at night. He does not sleep, my lord. For years, my lord.” 

It is worse than he imagined, of course, but the guilt must pull him to the sea floor. And Sehun understands it in some small way; sleep was so impossible to find after his flight, and still, it is hard to find now. 

“Thank you,” Sehun tells the boy. “I appreciate your honesty.” 

The boy bows, and he turns to walk away, but he hesitates, looks back over his shoulder. “A-Are you here to help?” 

“Yes, I believe so.” 

The boy smiles, and Sehun feels the glimmer of gold in his chest. The boy bows, and Sehun does not know what to do with it, only watches, feels compelled to make good on his mission by the way the people here love Chanyeol. 

“Thank you,” the boy says. “Thank you, sir.” 

He turns, walking away quickly, and Sehun watches the pale green of his gown flow behind him as he goes. The hall goes empty, and Sehun stands there, thinking, until a hand lands on his shoulder. 

Wheeling around, he sees Chanyeol’s smiling face. 

“Sleep well?” he asks. 

“Very well,” Sehun says. “And you?” 

“Like a babe, as always.” He grins brighter, taking Sehun by the hand. “Why are you standing out here? Scared to come inside?” 

“Quiet.” 

“Oh, you’re _quite_ scared then,” Chanyeol says, and he pulls him in, the room much livelier than the night before. 

No candles need to be lit as the light streams in through the windows, and there are dozens upon dozens of people, perhaps a hundred, all feasting, all talking animatedly amongst themselves. Chanyeol leads Sehun to their table in the center of the room, sits him down, and then sits beside him. 

“Do you like sausages?” Chanyeol asks. “I forgot to ask.” 

“I do,” Sehun says. 

“Of course you do.” And Chanyeol winks lewdly. Sehun kicks him underneath the table. “Ow! Well, now you’ve gone and done it. I’ll throw you in the cellar.” 

“At least there will be much to drink,” Sehun says with a grin. 

Chanyeol returns the grin, leans across the table, a hand braced on Sehun’s cheek. 

“My, how I’ve missed you, my dear.”  
  


♔

Chanyeol takes him on a tour of the capitol grounds, and while it is not so fair as the Bichwood (though it is Sehun's opinion that no place could ever be), it is majestic all the same. It all looks so _rich_ as they walk past, shops and stands dripping with luxury. Fine spices and silks, open markets of produce and flowers. There are children running through the streets, hands clasped together, and Sehun smiles at it. The memories come closing in. The festival months...how many smiles did he see then? Millions, he's sure of it, as many stars as there are in the sky.

"Here," Chanyeol says, and they approach a small stand where a man rotates skewers of chicken over a grill. When he flips them, there are pretty grill marks criss-crossing the surface, and the smell… Sehun salivates at the smell. "Two." 

Chanyeol pulls gold from his purse and throws it into the jar. The man bows before him, though it's more like a mere tilt of his head, but he takes two of the browned, crisped skewers and lifts them with tongs before wrapping the bottoms in paper and handing them to Chanyeol. 

"Careful now," the man says. "They're hot." 

Both Chanyeol and the man stare at each other for a while before they burst into a fit of laughter, and Sehun stands there awkwardly, taking the skewer once Chanyeol offers it to him. 

"See you tomorrow, Rigo," Chanyeol says, and they turn their backs on the man, strolling down the sandstone streets. "Taste it. I swear, you'll never taste better." 

Sehun hesitantly lifts the skewer to his mouth, and the chicken is sweet, savory, smoky, and _juicy_. 

"They tenderize it with fruit in the marinade." Chanyeol starts to pick pieces of chicken off the skewer before popping them into his mouth, chewing happily. "The Bichwood… I'll give it to you lot, you make good food. But nothing rivals Hwajae." 

Sehun smiles, seeing the pride swell within Chanyeol. It is good to see something reminiscent of when they first met, but it is so obvious now that it is just a cover for how he truly feels, a well-tailored mask, one that fits to every curve and line of him. 

They continue to make the rounds through the city, and the people stop Chanyeol at every turn. He smiles, and it is not solely _dutiful_. There is genuine joy there, and Sehun wonders if that helps him. Wonders if he makes the bitterness go down a bit easier. He lost his love, but here… here, there is so much love still to find. 

Chanyeol buys him so much food over the course of the day that Sehun can barely make it back to the palace on his own two feet. They share plates with the people at the taverns and inns, one large platter for the lot of them. It is a wondrous sight to see so many people share, break bread with one another. Sehun smiles as he listens to the stories, to the tall tales, and there are many concerning Chanyeol. He hears of Chanyeol rescuing lost animals, bringing orphans to stay at the palace, his good works, his good words. He hears a bit of it all. 

Chanyeol smiles as the sun sets prettily, streaks of red and violet along the sky. "Do not believe everything they say about me." 

"It is mostly good," Sehun says. "Not a bad word I've heard from any of them. Isn't that—"

"I told you." Chanyeol's smile is beautiful, eyes wide as he looks upon the castle, a great structure of black along the warm sky. "Do not believe it all. Haven't you learned your lesson yet? There are liars everywhere." 

Sehun follows him back to the palace in silence, only the sounds of their soft steps along the stones echoing through the emptying streets. 

"I know it well," Sehun says. "It is just that I do not believe you to be one of them." 

Chanyeol looks back, eyes maroon and flecked with amber. It is a moment that Sehun wishes he could bottle, some foreign vulnerability in Chanyeol's eyes that makes him soft, makes him plush with promises. 

But the moment, it fades the way the colors of the sky do, and when Chanyeol brings Sehun to his chambers, he wears another smile, more tense. And there is less beauty in it, less fragile bone. 

"Tomorrow, I will show you the labyrinth," Chanyeol says, and there is feigned excitement, the kind that reads so false when Sehun looks at it closely. 

"All right," Sehun says. "If you say so." 

"I do." 

Sehun slides the door shut behind him, the room of blue so much sadder than the night before.  
  


♔

The labyrinth is just as terribly gorgeous as the rest of the kingdom, and when Sehun stares up at it, at its towering walls, he wonders just how many people it took to build.

"A million," Chanyeol says. "Or so the stories said. I'm not sure. It was before I was born." 

It must have been an eternity ago, then, if it was before the gods. The cruel kings, it must have been built by them. And it makes sense, of course—this is the only great structure in the land that is not composed of the ancient fireglass. Instead, it is crafted from a blue-black stone, opaque and glimmering. 

"There were mines," Chanyeol notes. "Sapphnite is one of the strongest stones we know of, and that's why it's lasted so long." He runs a hand along the stones. "They threw people into it. Mostly thieves. Left them there to die." 

Sehun's eyes go wide, and he makes a noise of discontent that Chanyeol answers with a laugh. 

"We've changed things." He tilts his head up, looks to the top of the great maze. "Only those who want to compete are permitted to. And the prize for those who succeed… oh, it's more gold than you could ever imagine. And only I am the only one who knows the solution. It’s so long that no one could ever memorize it." 

"If they get lost, then do you—" 

" _No_ , I leave them there to wither and die," Chanyeol snorts. "Yes, of _course_ I go and rescue them.

"Well, one can never be sure," Sehun says. 

Chanyeol rolls his eyes, good-natured, and they walk along the walls of the labyrinth until they reach the entrance, the only section that opens to the world. Sehun steps through, and Chanyeol watches him. He turns his head from side to side, looks left and right, and then looks back at Chanyeol. 

"How many people have solved it?" 

"A few," Chanyeol says with a shrug. "It's good fun, watching them compete. Sometimes people go in as a team, and they split up along the way. I always like that." 

Sehun looks around, braces his hand on the stone. The insides of the maze walls glimmer with sapphire, untouched by the sands. He stares into them for a moment, sees stars and night skies within them.

"It is beautiful," Sehun says, and he bows his head a bit just to show his gratitude. "You have my thanks." 

"I don't need your thanks." He couples it with a snort, grabbing Sehun by the hand and pulling him back toward the horses. "There is still much to show you, of course, and we're losing the day."  
  


♔

They go… well, Sehun fears that they go everywhere. They visit orphanages and art houses, temples and butcher shops. There is always somewhere to visit, people to greet, and for a while, it is good fun. After all, it is a new place, and Sehun loves new places.

But then Sehun has to hold himself very carefully, trying not to let his disappointment show. He is falling back into old rhythms, and for a sennight, he allows it to happen. 

Each morning, he tells himself he will make progress with Chanyeol, talk to him, but each morning, he finds himself riding on horseback to some new place, elegant piece of paradise that Chanyeol wishes to show him. Rare waters, an oasis. Baths built from the volcanic glass, glittering grey in the sun. He has stables, stables filled with horses of every color coat he could imagine, and Sehun thinks of the Bichwood, thinks of his power, thinks of the way he is wasting his fucking time. 

But no. Not again. 

Some nights he takes his meals in Chanyeol's chambers, and they are scarlet red in decoration, lavish and luxurious as they should be. He sits at the table, drinks his wine, listens to the frivolous things Chanyeol says as he waits. He realizes then that he will never stop waiting, not if Chanyeol has anything to say in the matter. 

But he will not let himself be trampled, will not let this become a repeat of his past. He has grown. He has changed. He’ll tell himself over and over again if that’s what it will take. He will not quiet his questions. He will have his answers when he wants them. 

“Oh,” Chanyeol says, sipping from the wine once more before smiling. “Try the rose. It’s divine.” 

“Shut up,” Sehun says. “You’re avoiding me.” 

Chanyeol throws his head back and laughs, and Sehun wants to strike him. 

“If I was avoiding you, would I be sitting before you, sharing in the fruits of my vineyard's labors?” 

“It isn’t funny,” Sehun says. “You’re not a funny man.” 

“I have a few jokes,” Chanyeol says, and he leans forward on his elbows, the wine glass careless in his hand. “Would you like to hear one? _In Flemgrave, a young woman, somewhat of a simpleton—_ ” 

“Enough,” he finally says, standing sharply, grabbing Chanyeol by the shoulders. “We must speak.” 

“Aren’t we speaking?” Chanyeol smiles. “At present?” 

“Don’t be clever, it doesn’t suit you.” 

“Your words,” Chanyeol says, hands across his chest. “A thousand and one knives straight to the heart.” 

“Put the wine down,” Sehun says, “and listen to the words that I say.” 

“Yes, yes, all right.” He sits back in his chair, sets the cup upon the table. “Are you satisfied now? You may speak whenever the spirit moves you, then.” 

Sehun breathes deeply, speaks from his heart. 

"You can paint over cracks in the walls all you like, but it does not patch the damage," Sehun says. 

"Is this a riddle?" Chanyeol tilts his head to the side. "I'm not fond of riddles." 

"I told you to _shut up_." 

"Then please," Chanyeol says, "speak plainly. I'm much too tired for teasing." 

"You go around in your days acting so happily, and yet, there is sadness within you," Sehun says. "Why? Why do you… why do you not act honestly?" 

Chanyeol looks as though he was expecting such a question, and he tilts his chair back, leans back as if it all means nothing to him. 

"Should I cry throughout my days? Cry for a lover who is one hundred years removed from me?" Chanyeol smirks. "No, I think not. I've a kingdom to run, and I made my decisions long ago." 

"W-Why are you doing this?" Sehun asks. "You were so truthful before, and now… now, you act as if you've changed your mind." 

"I haven't." He looks down, grabs the glass of wine in his reclining state. "I will never change my mind on the matter. But some days, it is much better to pretend." 

"Pretending does none of us any good." 

"No," Chanyeol says, smiling down at the rose-colored wine. "No, I suppose it doesn't." 

There is quiet, and Sehun wonders if there were many quiet nights between Chanyeol and Jongin, tense, strained evenings where they both knew what was to become of them. Chanyeol is so very easy to read, not much for telling falsehoods with his face or his words, so did Jongin see his choice long before Chanyeol even knew it? 

"But you know why I've come," Sehun finally says. 

"Yes," Chanyeol tells him before sighing deeply. "Yes, I know your purpose." 

"Then are we to put off the inevitable? Or should we be brave and look at it head-on?" 

Chanyeol scoffs, and he leans back forward in his chair, his back hunched over as if he is carrying much weight along his shoulders. 

"What's inevitable?" he asks. "Do you truly think you will solve us? Mend what has been broken for so long?" 

"Yes," Sehun says, and the golden light, oh, it blooms like a rose within his ribcage. "Yes, I will mend what is broken." 

"You cannot." Chanyeol does not meet his eyes when he says it, keeps his gaze low, staring at his glass. He runs his finger along the rim, not even enough to make a sound. "I'm afraid it's so burned now that there is only ash. And you cannot mend something such as that. Ash is only ash. There is little to do with ash. Throw it into the water. Bury it in soil. Nothing else." 

Sehun studies him, and he can see that Chanyeol _believes_ it. There is much work to be done. 

"Don't you believe in me?" Sehun asks, a bit petulant, a bit childish. 

Chanyeol snorts, takes the decanter and lifts the glass stopper from the top. He pours his glass full once more and tops off Sehun's before re-stoppering the bottle. Gently, he tips the rim of his glass against Sehun's, a pleasant chiming sound. 

"Drink," Chanyeol orders, and Sehun obeys, lifts his glass to his mouth and lets the sweet pink wine slip down his throat. "That's better." 

"You ignore me," Sehun says. "Do you intend to answer any of my questions?" 

Chanyeol smiles, a secret smile for him alone. 

"I do believe in you," Chanyeol says. "I place my utmost faith in you… for most things. With this? Perhaps not." 

"But you must let me try." 

"Yes, yes," Chanyeol says, and he nods. "I will let you try."

Sehun wonders where to begin, wonders how to sift through the rubble, but… the beginning of it all seems as good a place as any. 

“Do you ever talk about… about them?” 

“You can say it,” Chanyeol smirks. “The Six.”

“What was it like?” Sehun asks, and Chanyeol winces as if the question was a thorn in his thumb. “I’m sorry. If it’s too much, you—” 

“No, no.” He folds his hands in his lap carefully. “It’s time I spoke of it. It’s time I… time I stopped hiding from it all.” 

Sehun sits there silently as Chanyeol collects himself, and when he begins to speak, it looks like a rockslide, everything tumbling down on top of itself. 

“When the magic was killed, bled from this world, the world fell dark,” Chanyeol says, and he waves his hand, takes the candlelight away. They sit in pitch black for a fraught moment before he waves his hand again, lights it all up. “People were never meant to live without magic. And those that… those that did not have it _coveted_ it. They wanted it more than gold, more than silver, more than anything. And they thought they could _steal it away_ from the people who possessed it. The bloodshed. The combat. It was brutal. It was cruel. The way they rose up against the magicks. It was… it was too horrible to speak of it. To most, it is lost to time. People call _our_ war the great war.” He laughs. “They know nothing of war. Truly. Nothing.” He stares at his hands, tangled together over the tabletop. “And so the world went dark, and with it, most good things ceased to grow.” 

“They could not achieve the marvels of the past. Not the architecture. Not the technological advancement. Not the industry. The world moved with magic, and when the magic was gone, the world simply… stopped moving,” he continues. “People died by the millions, ravaged by warfare, by disease, and it went on for years, for a thousand years. And then…” 

“And then you were born,” Sehun says. 

“Yes. And the mother kept us safe for as long as she could. Tried everything. But her magic was weak compared to ours. She was the last one. For years, years and years. For as long as time knew. But with her… the magic survived. And when we came, she taught us. Made us strong. But people… the greed was too powerful. The _thrall_. It pulled people apart, like picking the legs off a spider.” 

He shivers as if he remembers it clearly, as if it had all happened just one sun prior. 

Chanyeol breathes deeply, his shoulders moving as he labors through it, and when he looks into Sehun’s eyes again, he is crying or close to it, the tears just hanging in his eyes. 

“They came in the middle of the night,” Chanyeol says, and his voice cracks. “Took Baekhyun first. And I heard it, we all heard them say it. _If you don’t come quietly, we’ll kill her._ So there was nothing for us to do. She was our ultimate weakness, the love we had for her, but it did not matter. We would never do anything to harm her.” 

Sehun watches Chanyeol clench his fists tightly, and there is a reawakened anger in him, the heat billowing off of him in waves. For a moment, it’s hard to look at him straight on, the way he shakes, but the waving lines of him calm, and he breathes out. 

“The Six came for me,” he says. “And they brought me to Hwajae Hills. The whole kingdom was dying. They couldn’t survive in the heat. Weren’t made to survive it, of course. And so they used me. I worked day and night for them. I didn’t know the spells of my ancestors, but when they passed the scrolls and the books to me, it felt like… like I’d finally woken up from a deep sleep.” 

He smiles in memory, and Sehun finds it hard not to mirror it. 

“I could do anything,” Chanyeol says. “ _Anything_. The books taught me how to weave glass into threads, and they made clothes from it, clothes that could withstand the heat. The books taught me how to make the potions, elixirs so strong, so powerful it could keep a man alive for a month with just a sip. Advancements in science, in healing, in coin. Things the world had forgotten, suddenly remembered when I read the words.” 

“I-It must have been quite a lot for a child to handle,” Sehun says. “At such a young age, to have all of the wisdom of centuries long past handed to you.” 

Chanyeol drinks from his cup, the red of the wine slipping down the corner of his mouth, and he wipes it away with a hand. “That is an awfully generous way to look at things.” 

“It isn’t generous. It is true.” 

“Sehun, I’ve… I’ve done horrible things,” Chanyeol says. “And being treated kindly makes me feel filthy, like there is a film along my skin. I can pretend for a while, that all is well, that I am fine, but seeing you here, in the place where I’ve… where I’ve done so much wrong. I cannot stomach it.” 

Sehun bows his head lowly. “Surely you acted as you thought you must,” he tries. He looks up through his lashes. “Surely you had your reasons.” 

“Do the reasons matter?” Chanyeol laughs sharply. “I was raised in riches. I had people to dress me. People to wash me. People to care for my hair and my skin and my nails. Is that so horrible?” 

“No,” Sehun says. “But there were other things.” 

“Yes? Like what?” 

Sehun sucks in breath, shields himself. 

“Like being told you couldn’t love the one you loved.” 

Chanyeol’s eyes, fire incarnate. Sehun can’t stare at them directly, finds them too hot, too bright. 

“Do not make excuses,” Chanyeol says. “You know what side I came to in the war.” 

“You were put in the most difficult position,” Sehun says. “Love or duty. A-And you made your choice. And you’ve had to live with it.” 

“Yes, I’ve had to live with it. And I always will. With the voices of them ringing in my ears, telling me that I was worse than filth. That I was scum, a scab that needed to be picked clean. I wasn’t like Baekhyun, you know. No one here called me god then. They called me a plague. They knew me as some great and horrible curse. And perhaps that is what I became because I had heard it so many times.” 

What must it have felt like? He cannot begin to understand. How could you choose such people over your own kind? How could you turn your back on the one spot of light in the world? Is it so easy to forget who you really are? 

He swallows thickly. Shuts his eyes so as to bar himself from tears. 

“I’m so sorry,” Sehun says. 

“Don’t be sorry. They’re all long dead now, thanks to me.” 

“D-Did you kill them?” Sehun asks. 

Chanyeol stares down at his plate, taps his fingers against the table. 

“Once the war was won.” The corner of his lip twitches. “Strangled the first one. Stabbed the second. The third… well, it doesn’t much matter how I did it, but after I realized what I’d done, the horrible mistake I’d made, I couldn’t sleep. How could I pick monsters over the great love of my life? How could I—how could I let myself be _controlled_ like that?” 

“You were young,” Sehun says. “Youth is easily controlled.” 

“Baekhyun was young then, too. Would you excuse him for such a thing, if he were to do it to you?” Sehun looks down at his hands. “Believe I’ve made my point.” 

But Sehun has yet to finish, still has so much steam left in him, hot and angry. 

“You both have _changed_ ,” Sehun says. “You’ve _grown_!” 

“No,” Chanyeol says. “People… they never change.” 

“What of me?” 

Chanyeol looks him up and down, seemingly unimpressed by the offering. “You? You are the same soft, pure-hearted boy you’ve always been.” 

The words cut into him like a knife, carve him up as though he is nothing but air. He wants to cry, wants to scream, and he feels the winds pick up in his stomach. He wants to push them out, wants to let them burst the windows, wants to let them bring the whole fucking world down on top of them both. He isn’t the same. If there’s one thing he’s certain of, it is that. 

“Take it back,” he says, voice wavering. “I will take whatever abuse you feel it right to give, but you must take it back.” 

Chanyeol breathes out, beleaguered. He stretches a leg out, kicks his foot into Sehun’s leg. 

“I take it back.” 

Sehun keeps his eyes low, sits back into his chair. Is he strong enough for this? He isn’t sure anymore. He can barely handle Chanyeol on his own. What will happen when he summons Jongin here? What is he to do when they won’t speak, won’t acknowledge each other, won’t sew their ties back together? 

“Do not look so sullen,” Chanyeol says, and again, he nudges his foot into Sehun’s leg. “From now on, I will…,” and he breathes out sharply, “I will work with you. I will do whatever needs to be done.” 

“You will?” Sehun asks, unable to bite back the childlike excitement at the prospect. 

Chanyeol stands from the table, and he leans across it, ruffling Sehun’s hair. 

“Yes, dear,” he says, and he sends Sehun back to his room with a wave. “All right. Tomorrow. Whatever it is you want me to do, I’ll do it.” 

Sehun stands, and he wraps his arms around Chanyeol’s body, shocking a breath out of him. 

“You won’t regret it!” Sehun tells him, and for a moment, it is easy to forget all the rest.  
  


♔

First thing the following morning, not a bell past the sunrise, Sehun stands before the sliding doors that lead to Chanyeol’s chambers. He waits there patiently as he listens to Chanyeol’s puttering, and before too much longer, Chanyeol opens the doors, chest bare, just a thin pair of pants covering his lower half.

He is much bigger under the cottons and silks than Sehun would have assumed, and his muscles are well-defined. He lifts an arm to scratch at his messy hair, and his bicep flexes pleasantly, drawing Sehun’s eye. 

“Are you going to say anything, or are you just going to stare at me like I’m a common whore?” 

Sehun’s gaze snaps to Chanyeol’s, and he wears a delighted smile, running his hand down his chest as if to tease. 

“Oh, shut up,” Sehun says. 

“As you wish, then,” Chanyeol says, and he closes his mouth. 

“I’d like to send a raven.” He folds his hands in front of him. “To Jongin.” 

Chanyeol rolls his eyes, turns his back, and Sehun follows him into the room. “Yes, I had assumed.” He immediately goes to the wine cart, pours himself a drink. 

“Wine so early?” Sehun asks. “Is it such a poor solution?”

“Any solution is a poor one when it comes to this problem.” 

"Why is that so?" Sehun asks, and he goes to the table, pulls the glass away from Chanyeol before he can pull it to drink from. "Speak truly. You've promised your undivided and unequivocal support, haven't you?" 

Chanyeol sighs, and he reaches both arms high above his head, stretching his body taut. Sehun lets his eyes wander, the pull of muscles across Chanyeol's obliques, but he is not so easily swayed. After all, he has felt the most delicious things, has tasted the sweetest fruits. There is not much that could properly sway him now. 

"I have," Chanyeol says. "And so I will do whatever it is you ask of me. But in all my years, he has never once responded to a letter. I don't know that it will be the same for you, but please, I do hope that you won’t find your spirit crushed when he simply does not answer." 

Sehun's mind turns, lets the thousands of days flit by like a small rainstorm. He imagines Chanyeol at the writing desk, the nib of his pen wet with ink. The scratching against the parchment. 

"How many times have you written?" 

Chanyeol smiles, smiles like he's been figured out. 

"Too many times to count, young one," he says. "And so I caution your optimism." 

"It is not optimism in me," Sehun says. "My optimism was stolen from me long ago."

Chanyeol looks at him, a curious look. _Who stole it?_ Surely, Chanyeol knows. 

“So then, please, how is this so important to you?” Chanyeol asks. “Why is it… why _must_ you do this?” 

“I don’t know,” Sehun says. “I just know that I must.” 

“How could you know such a thing?” 

“I can feel it,” Sehun says. He pats his heart. “Here.” 

“That’s heartburn. Perhaps indigestion.” 

Sehun furrows his brow. “That isn’t funny.” 

“It was a little funny,” Chanyeol says. 

“It’s either funny, or it isn’t,” Sehun says.

“Clever, aren’t you?” 

“Very much so.”  
  


♔

Sehun thinks for most of the morning, for the afternoon about what he’ll say when he writes to Jongin. He wants to be delicate, wants to be—

He isn’t sure what he wants. Wants something difficult to be easy, he supposes. 

They eat together, and Sehun watches Chanyeol. 

Chanyeol stares at him, and Sehun can feel him trying to suss him out, true motivations, true loyalties. _Go on,_ he thinks. _Everything about me is true now. I want goodness for goodness’s sake._

He huffs a breath, fingers resting along his food, wrapped around a piece of bread. He hesitates though, does not bring it to his lips, only sits there, staring at it. 

“You always trusted me,” Chanyeol says. “Even in the very beginning, didn’t you?” 

“Yes,” Sehun says. “Stupidly. Foolishly. But yes.” 

“Why?” 

Sehun observes him, and for the first time, he can see the age in Chanyeol’s eyes, the weariness. Tired of fighting. Tired of living. It reminds him distantly of the woman in the forest. _No,_ Sehun thinks. _Don’t give up just yet. Not when I’ve fought so hard to get here._

“I don’t know.” 

Chanyeol sets his fork down, rubs at his eyes with his hands, and when he pulls them away, his eyes are red, wet. 

“When I was younger,” Chanyeol says, “I heard prophecy. And I… I never spoke it to anyone, never spoke the words to another soul for fear of them not coming true. It’s been a hundred years. A century of waiting. But I waited. Waited for you.” 

“W-What did the prophecy say?” 

“ _There are stones stacked upon stones, eight in number, even but unbalanced. And when the ninth slides into place, locks them all into place, the cracks in the walls shall be sealed, the world made new once more,_ ” Chanyeol says, closing his eyes like he can see the words burned to the back of his eyelids. “And when you were born, when the eight of us felt you come into the world, I knew that you would be the key. I knew that you were the answer.” 

Sehun is brought to tears, and he wipes them away, blinking quickly to disperse of them. He is not the answer to any question. Not the key to any lock. Just a man. Just a person. Isn’t he?

“Why are you telling me this?” Sehun asks. “Why now?” 

“You have discovered your purpose all on your own,” Chanyeol says. “But I always hoped. Always hoped that we could repair things together. And now I feel… I feel so selfish.” 

“You love me, though, don’t you? I’m more than… than the answer to a prophecy?” 

Chanyeol sobs a laugh, loud. 

“Of course.” And Chanyeol reaches out, takes Sehun’s hand in his. “From the very moment I saw you, I knew… I knew you were part of my family. I love you as a brother. As… as my own flesh and blood. I would do anything for you. You must know that. I’ve always acted… acted in your best interest.”

Sehun stares down at his hands, tears dripping down his face. “You aided me when I was most in need. Not because you wanted something from me, but because you were right. This is my destiny. This is what I was always meant to do.” 

“Don’t say that just because you feel it’s what everyone wants of you,” Chanyeol says. 

But what other reason is there for this? Is it truly from the goodness of his heart? Is it about access to his true power? He doesn’t know. Why did he come? Why did he blindly accept this? Why is he always blindly accepting and never learning from his mistakes? 

He tries to remember the golden feeling in his chest when he saw Junmyeon and Jongdae reunite, rejoin after so long, but it was a relative eternity ago, and he can hardly capture that, can hardly remember what the sweet power tasted like. Like cinnamon sugar? Like settling in someone’s arms? Yes, all of it and more. It must have been. 

“It isn’t just what everyone wants,” Sehun says. “It is what the world wants of me. It is what the winds want of me. And who am I to deny them?” 

Chanyeol has nothing to say to it, studies his hands instead, playing with his fingers. How deep is this, so deep that not even a god has words of comfort for him? He shakes it away, puts his hands flat on the table. 

“I’ll write him tomorrow.” He nods to himself, thinking of the words he’ll choose. “And when he comes, you will find forgiveness for each other.” 

“He will never agree to it,” Chanyeol says, and he smiles, but it is a haunting smile, one that sings long-forgotten anthems, the melodies bittersweet. “And could anyone blame him? My betrayal was ultimate.” 

“Haven’t you lingered in this for long enough?” Sehun asks. “Haven’t you paid for this time and time again?” 

“What payment?” He snorts a laugh, drinks deeply from his wine, and Sehun follows suit. 

“All the kindnesses you showed me!” He wipes the red away from his mouth. “You said it yourself, you acted in my best interest.” 

“You were terrified of me at the very beginning,” Chanyeol laughs. “Was that aid?” 

“In some way,” Sehun says. “I needed to be made strong. I needed to learn who I was, who I… who I could be without anyone telling me. You only wanted to help. You only wanted—” 

“Don’t tell me what I wanted.” 

“I won’t let you blame yourself.” He reaches for the wine, refills their glasses. “I won’t let you keep pretending.” 

Chanyeol takes his wine, and quickly, he drains it again, and when he looks up Sehun, his eyes are fire red, flamed in the iris. Beautiful. Terrifying. The person Chanyeol’s always tried to be. Sehun’s got to put a stop to this. He’s got to find a way. 

“There is no pretending,” Chanyeol says. “I’ve always been this. Right to the fucking core, like an apple left to rot.” 

“Then why help me?” Sehun asks. “Why put me on the council when even Baekhyun wanted to keep me away from it?”

Chanyeol stares down at the table, and when he throws his head back, his eyes have gone back to mahogany, cherry-brown and calm. 

“I wanted him to confess to you. I saw him, all the falsehoods, one after another, spilling out of his mouth, falling from his tongue, and I thought _not again, not another of us falling to this_. He seemed so desperate to keep you in the dark, and I knew… I knew what it would become. There has always been fire in you. I knew you couldn’t forgive that. One lie, two lies. Paltry things. But so many? And of such magnitude? Perhaps another would have stayed, tempted by the riches, the comforts, but not you. You would rather stay true to who you are.” 

Sehun looks down, wraps his hands around his cup. “You’ve always been a friend to me. Even when I didn’t know it. And you must reckon with this. You must know that, no matter what you’ve done, forgiveness is within reach.” 

“For others,” Chanyeol says, and he shakes his head. “Not for me.” 

Sehun huffs, furrows his brow. “And what, then? You stay here forever? Wallow in your sadness forever because this is your plight? This is your fate?” 

“Yes.” 

“What about the prophecy?” 

“You don’t even _like_ the prophecy,” Chanyeol spits. “You hate it. You despise it. I can see it in your eyes. Don’t try to deny it.” 

Sehun doesn’t even mean to unleash his fury, but he is tired of running in circles, tired of the self-loathing and the cowardice, and Chanyeol’s eyes go wide as he starts to float into the air, flailing as he tries to pull himself back down to his seat. He kicks his legs as Sehun floats him up high, his back against the ceiling. 

“Put me _down!_ ” Chanyeol shrieks, and Sehun can’t help but choke out a little laugh before he gently sets Chanyeol back to his chair. He stands, tries to pat Chanyeol’s hair back into its careful coif, but Chanyeol bats his hand away. “That’s quite enough of that.” 

“I didn’t mean to,” Sehun says with a shrug. “I still can’t control it fully.” 

“You know, you won’t be able to use your _I can’t control it_ excuse forever, little lark,” Chanyeol says. 

“But for now, I can and I shall.” 

“You’re a devilish thing.” 

“I’ve been trying to warn you all along,” Sehun smiles. “See to it that I have parchment and a full inkwell in my room by morning.” 

Chanyeol rolls his eyes, and he gathers Sehun into his arms in an embrace. 

“Do you give orders now to everyone you happen across?” 

“No,” Sehun says, and he tightens his arms around Chanyeol, burying a smile into Chanyeol’s neck. “Only you.” 

"Ah yes," Chanyeol nods. "Only me."  
  


♔

By mid-morning, he’s got what he needs, and after a quick bath, the sulfured waters good for the skin according to one of the boys who offers his help, Sehun sits at the desk in his chambers and labors over how to begin.

He taps the tip of the pen along the corner of the page, watching the ink bleed black over it. There is no more time to delay, no more time to dally over the pleasant words. He’s got to act. Someone’s got to. 

_Jongin,_ he writes, _I do hope you’ve been well._

_It has been so long since we’ve last seen each other, but I’m sure you are as beautiful as ever, as kind as ever, and I have missed you dearly._

_But I do not write today simply to lay praise at your feet. I write asking for your presence in a kingdom that has long yearned for you. The past must be forgiven. Together, we shall bury the weapons we once wielded against one another._

_Please consider this your invitation to the kingdom of Hwajae Hills at your earliest convenience. I greatly look forward to seeing you again, dear friend._

With a flourish, he signs his name. He rolls the scroll up, ties it quickly to the raven. He opens the window, parts his hands, and the black raven splits the sky, flying to Yeol as if it has been waiting for this day all its life.  
  


♔

No word comes. Not for a sennight.

He reclines against the couch, hands over his face, unable to temper his disappointment. He had thought—he didn't know _what_ he thought. Perhaps that Jongin would respond differently if it was _he_ who was asking for his presence. Perhaps that Jongin would appear before Sehun as soon as the letter reached him. 

But there is nothing. Not even a raven with a denial. 

Sehun, of course, was warned against this inevitability, and Chanyeol takes every opportunity to remind him. 

"I told you," Chanyeol says.

"Yes, you did, and while it was very smart of you to tell me so, it does neither of us any good just sitting around doing absolutely nothing save for drinking in the evenings as we wait for word!" 

"Ah, but drinking is so fun!" 

Chanyeol stands from his side of the plush red couch, and he goes to the wine, sniffs some bottles before finding a vintage that suits him. He makes a show of pouring the glasses full, a light yellow. Almost like honey. 

"I'm tired of drinking," Sehun whines. 

"You can _never_ be tired of drinking."

Sehun snorts. "You sound like a drunkard."

"I _am_ a drunkard." 

Sehun rolls his eyes as he takes the proffered glass, sips at it carefully. It is sweet, floral, and it reminds Sehun of a kind from Bichwood. He sets the glass down onto the table, stares at Chanyeol. 

"Well?" 

"Well what?" Chanyeol asks, taking a sip from his glass. "Did you expect me to have a plan from here on out? You're the chosen one. You figure it all out." 

"I'm not _chosen_ ," Sehun says. 

"Because, as we all know, prophecy follows around the simplest and most unimportant people among us." 

Sehun reaches behind him, takes a small pink pillow with golden tassels and hurls it as hard as he can at Chanyeol's head. Unfortunately, Chanyeol has frighteningly good reflexes, so as he ducks out of the way, he waves a hand at it, sets it ablaze with a fire so hot that it falls to the black glass floor in a storm of ash. 

"You're no fun," Sehun pouts, folding his arms across his chest. 

"Drink more," Chanyeol says, nodding towards Sehun's glass. "I get more fun the drunker you are."  
  


♔

Sehun does not give up with one letter. If Chanyeol spent all his days writing pining letters over Jongin, then the least he can do is try his hand at the same. Each day, the writing gets more and more desperate, but Sehun has no other options. If it comes to it, he'll venture out once more, another pilgrimage of sorts, until he is in need of aid, drawing Jongin out of his hiding, making him reconcile. Making him see the light.

 _Jongin_ , he writes. 

_This is the fourth letter in as many days that I've sent you. As all the ravens I've sent have returned to me, I know the letters are reaching you, so please, consider this my fervent plea: respond to one if only to tell me to stop sending the damn birds. It's cruelty, letting them fly so far without a single word in reply._

_Do know that I miss you dearly and that I would be joyous to see you once more. I am deeply sorry if I've caused any offense. You have my apology, and if you decide to visit, you shall have my apology in person as well._

_Yours,  
Sehun_

Once more, he ties the scroll to the raven's leg, and he sends it through the open window with as many prayers as he can manage. To whom is he praying? He isn't sure any longer, and he’s tired of asking the same questions.  
  


♔

It is another sennight more before there is a great commotion over supper, and Sehun turns, Chanyeol's eyes going blood red when the girl bursts into the room, hand clutched around a piece of parchment.

"It's for you!" she says cheerily, curly hair bouncing as she bounds over to Sehun, sticking the letter into his hand. "Just arrived!" 

Sehun can hardly wait to see what the letter entails, and when he flips it over in his hand, sure enough, there is his sigil, a pyramid encasing a swirling vortex, glittering along a blue seal. 

"All right, all right," Chanyeol says, and he waves his hand at all of the onlookers, falling over each other to get a peek at the letter. "Enough of that. Back to your meals, as it's certainly got nothing to do with any of you." 

There is a good-natured grumbling, and Sehun turns, looks at Chanyeol as his eyes fade back to mahogany, glittering in the firelight. 

"Shall I open it now?" Sehun asks. "Or shall I wait?" 

Chanyeol takes a sip from his goblet, swallows thickly. 

"Wait," Chanyeol says, "if it pleases you." 

"Of course." And he slips the scroll into the pocket of his gown, pats it safely.  
  


♔

Chanyeol throws himself across his bed dramatically, an arm covering his face.

"Read it," he commands, "before I die of suspense." 

Sehun takes the scroll from his pocket, sticks his finger under the seal and pops it open, unfurling it slowly. 

"Read it, read it," Chanyeol chants. 

But Sehun lets his eyes graze over the words, and he sees it for what it is: a rejection. 

"Is it bad, then?" Sehun looks at him there on the bed, and he's sitting up now, hands folded delicately in his lap. "You're taking an awfully long time there." 

Sehun clears his throat and reads. 

" _Sehun, I am so very happy to hear from you," he says, " _but I am afraid I must decline your gracious invitation to Hwajae. Despite this, however, it is my deepest hope that you keep in touch at every convenience. You need only write if you wish to visit Gochidana once more. Yours, Jongin.__ " 

Chanyeol does not respond, and Sehun lowers the paper slowly, watching Chanyeol's chest rise and fall with sighs. 

"I expected as much," Chanyeol says, and he shuts his eyes. "Thank you for trying." 

Sehun throws the scroll to the floor, and he crosses the room, sits on the bed next to Chanyeol, taking his hand. 

"Do you think this will be the end?" Sehun asks. "Do you think I mean to give up at the first chance?" 

"I would not lay blame at your feet," Chanyeol says, and when he opens his eyes, Sehun sees tears in his eyes. "Not once, in all my years, has he returned a letter." 

"Once, now." He smiles, and Chanyeol laughs wetly, brushing his eyes dry. "He will respond more. I swear it to you." 

"You cannot swear such a thing." 

Sehun runs his thumb along the back of Chanyeol's hand. "I am a god. There is no limit to what I can swear." 

It shocks a laugh from Chanyeol's chest before Chanyeol pulls him into a tight hug, a reminder of what they're fighting for.  
  


♔

Sehun does not stop writing, and Jongin does not stop responding. It is a tenuous relationship they have through the letters, and the ravens go almost as quickly as they come. Jongin avoids nearly all discussion of Chanyeol when he can even though Sehun pushes as often as the pages will allow.

When a month has passed since his arrival at the capital city, Sehun receives a letter in the evening as he and Chanyeol sit in the solarium. 

He holds the yellowed paper in his hands delicately, unfurls it from its roll, and he reads: 

_Sehun,_

_At this juncture, I am afraid I must ask you to cease all correspondence with me about him if you’d continue to count me amongst your friends. These memories are too painful to relive, and from now on, if we are to speak, I would prefer it be about happier things. Let the past rest._

_Yours,  
Jongin_

He stands as soon as his eyes glide over the signature, and he immediately walks from the solarium, from the pale moonlight, and he walks back to his chambers, eager to send his response. 

“Wait!” Chanyeol calls, but Sehun does not slow, only walks faster, the sound of Chanyeol tracking behind him distant in his ears. 

Sehun slides open the glass doors when he finally reaches them, leaves them open without bothering to close them, and he stalks over to his desk, spreading his supplies out over the surface before sitting and beginning his letter. 

"It's all right," Chanyeol says, watching Sehun's hands fly over the parchment, the tip of the pen scratching quickly. "You don't need to work any more on this." 

"It isn't work," Sehun says, and he takes the page, holds it up to his mouth before blowing some of the ink dry. "It is my mission." 

Chanyeol frowns. 

"You can quit at any time," he says. 

"No," Sehun says. "I cannot." 

_Jongin,_

_When you receive this letter, I beseech you: please come to the capital. If only for a day, if only until the next tolling of the bell, I would have to look upon the man you once called love and see the ways he has changed._

_Forgiveness is earned, and you are the only one who can grant such a thing. Give him the chance. I beg you._

_Surely, you must feel how strongly I believe in him. Take that as a mark of his character. At the very least, grant him the opportunity to tell you how deeply he regrets. It courses through everything he does. Truly._

_Yours,  
Sehun_

Quickly, he rolls the tiny scroll, ties it round the raven, and pushes open the window. 

The raven flies with the letter attached, and when Sehun looks back at Chanyeol, he has his head in his hands. 

“You cannot force him to forgive me,” Chanyeol says, voice soft as he speaks to the floor. 

“I do not intend to,” Sehun says. “I only intend to show him what he needs to see.”  
  


♔

He is so focused on his mission that sometimes, the thoughts of Baekhyun surprise him, shock the breath right out of him. The sense memories are so visceral and real that Sehun feels like he could reach out, touch the softened silk of Baekhyun’s robes, lean in and smell the roses sitting along his skin. Would he still taste sweet like strawberries? And his words, would they sound just as sweet?

There is a sickness in him, some defect that he can neither forget, nor unlearn. 

He stares out the window over the city, and he watches the fiery sun set. He thinks about whether or not Baekhyun is watching this same sun fall. No, surely not. But there is the thought: _What is he doing now? Is he thinking of me? Is he letting a city fall to ruin simply because I am not there at his side?_

The door slides open behind him, and Sehun does not bother to turn, only listens to Chanyeol move, standing behind him. Quiet at first. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” 

“Yes,” Sehun answers. “Very beautiful.” 

With a gentle hand, Chanyeol pets through his hair, and Sehun closes his eyes, lets the world go dark. 

“Are you thinking of him?” 

Is he so transparent? Does he wear all his emotions, sartorial sentiment? Dishonesty has never been a strength of his, and something makes him want to grow at it, hide away more parts of himself, cover them with facade.

It was Baekhyun who told him that the world wants to corrupt a pure heart, but Sehun had no idea that Baekhyun was his entire world. 

“I still love him,” Sehun says. “And he will always use it against me.” 

Chanyeol sighs out, a fist against Sehun’s upper back. 

“That is not a very charitable way of looking at someone that you love,” Chanyeol says. 

“Not charitable, no, but truthful.” 

Chanyeol sighs, and he puts his hands on Sehun’s shoulders. 

“Sehun, I know you cannot see the shifts in him—”

“Do not make excuses for him,” Sehun says. 

“These are not excuses,” Chanyeol says. “He has had a long journey. And you… you do not know the ways he has changed because of you.” 

“He said that.” Chanyeol’s fingers squeeze against the bones of Sehun’s shoulders. Sehun turns. “Why should I believe anything he told me, when I know not of his sincerity?” 

Chanyeol turns him, and he looks into Sehun’s eyes. 

“It was always Baekhyun,” Chanyeol says. “Baekhyun, the one to push people away. To question loyalty. To think you were lying when you were telling the truth. It hurt him worst of all, the separation between us. When I finally saw him again… he was someone completely different. Someone I didn’t know any longer.” He fiddles with his fingers. “When we were just boys, just _babes_ really, he was so… he was so different. He had the purest heart I’d ever seen.” He rests his forehead against Sehun’s shoulder. “You remind me of him. Of the person he used to be. And then, when I met with him again… so much of him had wasted away to nothing. I don’t know what they did to him there, what atrocities he must have seen at such an age, but they—they changed him.” He looks up at Sehun with tears in his eyes. “I wept for him. For the death of who he was. It was the start of it all. It all fell apart after we lost him. The war, that was the final break, but we had fractured long before it.” 

The cruelty must have been unimaginable, and how much can one person stomach before it becomes too much? And when they have the power of starlight behind them… how long before they use it? 

“I wish I… I wish I was born before,” Sehun says. “So that I might have helped then. So that things might have been different.” 

“Sometimes I think… perhaps there was nothing to help. Maybe this was the way things were meant to be. Broken. Empty. This is the way of the world.” 

But Sehun finds no joy in that, nor does he find satisfaction in such a defeatist point of view. 

“Have we lost all hope?” Sehun asks. “Truly?” 

Chanyeol laughs. 

“No. Though, sometimes I wish we had. Perhaps it would be easier to sleep at night.” 

Sehun does not find rest easy that night either. He tosses and turns in the bed despite its softness, despite the comfort. He tries his side, his back, his stomach, but ultimately, he lies there for hours, time slipping past as he stares to the ceiling. There is a chance that it’s contagious, that Chanyeol infected him with it. That emptiness. That sadness. Or maybe it’s been within him all along.  
  


♔

The next afternoon, Sehun is writing another letter, this time to Taeil. He tries his best to keep in contact, to keep Taeil informed of his comings and goings, and Taeil tells him of the Bichwood. He does not speak much of their politics, but Sehun appreciates what he gets all the same. Mostly, he does not want to hear of the city. Mostly, he just wants to hear about Taeil.

The tip of his pen scratches pleasantly along the page, and even with Taeil so far away, there is a comfort in writing him. Strangely, the bright gold feeling drips into his chest, his power swelling, and he breathes in sharply, confused. 

There is a sound, a strange sound like air being sucked from the room, and when Sehun looks up, there, standing in front of him, is Jongin. 

It hits Sehun squarely, then, just how beautiful he truly is. It is no surprise that they sing songs of him still, even though so few have seen him, have seen his people. His skin shines, hair swept back carefully, and he wears a formal attire that Sehun’s never seen before: a draped fabric gown of royal blue. The hem of it sweeps along the floor. 

The one thing he is missing, of course, is his smile. And Sehun stands, bows deeply to him before standing up straight, crossing to him and taking him into an embrace. 

“Jongin, I’ve—” 

“I am not here for long,” Jongin says, and he settles his hands on Sehun’s hips. “I only wanted to tell you that there is no need for anymore correspondence. I have forgiven him long ago.” 

Sehun withdraws from the hug, eyebrows furrowed. 

“You have?” he asks. 

“Of course,” Jongin says, and he smiles tightly. “What’s done is done. I do not hold grudges over mistakes that we made a century ago.” He pats Sehun on the shoulder. “If that’s all, then, I should be returning. Yixing nee—”

“You cannot return yet!” Sehun says, nearing a shout. “What about Chanyeol? You’ve yet to see him!” 

Jongin smiles again, but it is a different smile, a kind Sehun’s never seen from him before. 

“I do not require a meeting with his lordship.” 

“But that is precisely the reason that I asked you here,” Sehun says. “And with such fervency!” 

Jongin breathes a little laugh, and he stands back from him. “I know. But it is unnecessary, sweet one. We’ve nothing to speak of.” 

“Of course you have!” Sehun says. “Why are you being so stubborn?” 

“It is not stubbornness,” Jongin says. “We have simply outgrown each other.” 

“Nothing has ever been further from the truth.” 

Jongin stares at him, and his brown eyes are bright with gold. 

“I must return,” Jongin says. 

“Please,” Sehun begs. 

“It will do no good.” He smiles again, sad like Chanyeol’s smile. “It will only hurt.” 

“Please, I beg you.” 

“Sehun—” 

He is desperate, and so he does what desperate people do; dropping to his knees, he holds his hands up in prayer, and he keeps his eyes low as he speaks. 

“If you have any affection for me,” Sehun says, voice wavering, “any at all, please, _please_ stay. If only for the night. If only through dinner. If you only say a few words to him. Please, I—Jongin, he’s changed so much. He has regretted his choice at the setting of every sun, I know because he’s told me so, and I see his heart. I see the purity that has washed away the worst of him. He has _changed_ , I swear it. But never, _never_ has his love for you ever waned.” 

There is deathly silence, the clutch of cold around his neck, and he chances a glance up at Jongin, fearing the worst. 

But when he looks up, Jongin has tears hanging in his eyes, his face twisted in pain. 

“Dinner,” he says, voice tight. “Dinner, and then I must return.” 

“Y-Yes, yes, of course,” Sehun says, and he scrambles to his feet, gathering Jongin in another hug, this time tighter, and this time… Jongin throws his arms around Sehun’s neck, breathing out a harsh, stuttered breath.  
  


♔

Sehun leaves Jongin in his chambers, and he hurries through the winding halls of the castle, hurrying to Chanyeol’s room. By the time he arrives, he is at a sprint, and he is out of breath when he knocks on the door.

“Sehun?” Chanyeol calls. “Come in.” 

Sehun slides open the door, and Chanyeol is sat at his desk, pen busy with letters of some sort. 

“Dinner is not for another bell or so,” Chanyeol remarks, not even turning from his desk. “I had not thought you would come early. Forgive me, I’m still attending to some business regarding the craftsmen’s guild work.” 

“I—I suggest you finish it quickly,” Sehun says. “We’ve a visitor.” 

The movement of Chanyeol’s pen stops, and slowly, slowly, he looks over his shoulder. 

“Do you mean it?” 

“He is waiting in my chambers.” 

Chanyeol turns back, sets his pen down, the movements gentle. 

“Would you fetch someone?” Chanyeol asks quietly. “I need to speak with the cooks regarding the menu for this evening.”  
  


♔

When Sehun returns to the chambers, Jongin is standing near the windows, careful, hand delicate on the curtains.

“D-Dinner is normally served at the seventh bell,” Sehun says. 

Jongin turns, a sad smile painted prettily on his face. “Yes, I know.” He turns back to the curtains, stroking a hand along the royal blue fabric. “He had this room decorated for me, you know.” He wraps his hand up in the cloth. “Wanted a place for me to sleep in case I ever got tired of him. Didn’t want me to have to leap back.” 

Sehun smiles, imagines it in his head as best he can. 

“Did you ever sleep here?” Sehun asks. 

A closed smile spreads along Jongin’s lips. 

“No,” Jongin says. “Never once.” 

It occurs to Sehun then just how much history there is between them, and surely, he knew there was history, but the depth, the breadth of it. 

“Did you miss it?” Sehun asks, and Jongin looks sharply to him. “Seeing the kingdom?” 

“This was never my home.” 

_No_ , Sehun thinks. _But once upon a time, someone here was._  
  


♔

At the tolling of the seventh bell, he escorts Jongin to dinner, arm in arm, and his stomach rolls with apprehension. Perhaps Jongin can sense it in him, because he pats Sehun’s hand, smiles charmingly at him. For one who was so standoffish, Jongin certainly treats Sehun warmly as they move through the halls. Sehun observes Jongin out of the corner of his eye, and sure enough, Jongin stares up at the walls, at the ceilings, and Sehun imagines him to be tracking all the differences, if there are any to find.

When they get to the hall, Jongin pulls Sehun to a stop.

"I will not argue," Jongin says. "I will not quarrel. I accepted peace into my heart long ago. I will not allow anyone to break it."

"No, no, of course not," Sehun says. "But I… I think you are busy imagining things that will not come to pass."

Jongin pats Sehun's hand in his once more. "I hope you are right, little one."

Sehun scowls as Jongin laughs, leading through the open doors. And where there are normally dozens of people, laughter and raucous feasting, there are just three: Sehun, Jongin, and Chanyeol, standing by their usual table, his hands folded carefully in front of him.

For a moment, Sehun only stands there, watches the silent words flow through from Jongin to Chanyeol, from Chanyeol to Jongin, and he wonders if this is what it looks like when people in love look at each other. Chanyeol's eyes are black, and tears fall down his face at the sight of him. 

"I'm sorry," Chanyeol says, and his voice is fractured, shards of it jagged as it falls from his mouth. “Truly, I am.” 

Sehun looks to Jongin, at the very deliberate face he wears. He waits for Jongin to crack, the stones of him crumbling to the floor into ash and dust, but instead, he just cross to the table, chooses a seat, and he sits.

"You are forgiven," Jongin replies before looking to Sehun. "Will dinner be served soon?"

"Y-Yes," Chanyeol says, and he wipes his hand across his face. "Yes, just a moment."

Chanyeol walks from the room to the adjoining galley, and Sehun steals the seat next to Jongin, a hand on his shoulder.

"You haven't forgiven him," Sehun says. "I can tell."

"Oh?" Jongin says, an eyebrow raised handsomely. "Is that the sort of thing you can _tell_ now?"

"Yes," Sehun says. "Yes, it is."

There is no blooming feeling in his chest, no unfurling of golden petals, and he… he only has until the end of dinner. The time is slowly passing him by, and he's got to do _something_.

"I forgave Chanyeol the moment he left me."

"He never left," Sehun says, and he holds Jongin's hand, soft in his own. "He never wanted to leave."

Jongin physically recoils, drawing his hand back forcibly, and the pain strikes across his face, a bolt of Jongdae's lightning before the practiced calm returns.

"I confess I do not know what he's told you of our… of our _history_ , but it was certainly not my choice to start a fucking war. It was certainly not my choice to abandon the only man I had ever loved. That I _have_ ever loved." Jongin's eyes, they go watery as he speaks, and his voice _shakes_ , and Sehun finds himself tearing up, a mirror. "It was not _my_ choice to become strangers. It was not _my_ choice to spend a century apart. He _left_ me no choice. He _forced_ me into hiding. A _hundred fucking years_. A hundred years, Sehun. I—I have waited so long. I have gone so long without seeing his face and… and now that I'm here, now that I'm in a place that holds so many memories, it...," and he buries his face in his hands before looking back up at Sehun, eyes red, "it feels as fresh as the day it happened. The wound is ripped open."

Sehun reaches out once more, and Jongin lets him take his hand, laces their fingers together.

Then, Jongin looks, and standing in the doorway is Chanyeol, a platter in his hands.

"I… I'm sorry," Chanyeol says. "I did not mean to interrupt."

Jongin breathes in, brushing the tears away from his eyes. "No, you weren't interrupting anything."

"Jongin, I—"

"I do not want to hear another apology," Jongin says with a smile. "I do not want to hear another word of it."

Chanyeol walks over. Sets the platter down before Jongin.

"After this meal," Chanyeol says, "I promise… I will never contact you again. I will respect your wishes. You have my word." Jongin nods, keeps his eyes low. "And if you desire it, I will dine in my chambers now."

"N-No," Jongin says. "It is your kingdom. You can dine wherever you want."

"I only want to give you what you want."

Jongin looks up at him, and more of those silent words, the communication of lovers, a language that others simply cannot understand. The spoken words from Jongin's lips, they burst forth as though he tries and fails to bite them back, swallow them down to his stomach.

"I missed you, you know," Jongin says. "Dearly. With my whole heart." His voice breaks as the tears come quicker than before. "You were my everything."

"No one knows it better than me."

Jongin laughs wetly. "Together, we were so much, and apart—"

"We became nothing."

There is a spot of quiet like the spot of candlelight that keeps the room lit, and Sehun feels as though he is watching them kiss, something not meant for him.

"Are you something now?" Jongin asks.

"Yes, I am something," Chanyeol says with a nod. "I do not know how good it is, but I am something. And… and you? Are you something?"

Jongin smiles, genuine.

"Yes, I'm afraid I am."

"That's good, then," Chanyeol says. "You were always meant to be something."

They dine silently, no more words, and when Jongin stands from the table, he takes Sehun in an embrace before facing Chanyeol. Sehun waits, his heart in his throat, as Jongin crosses, keeping a respectful distance before bowing his head to Chanyeol.

"I will return by morning," Jongin says. "I-If… if there is something you want to discuss in further detail."

"Y-Yes," Chanyeol scrambles, and he hurries forward, bowing his body in half before Jongin. "Yes, please. We can… we can discuss anything. For as long as you'd like. Please, you're… you're always welcome here. You must know that."

A ghost of a smile appears on Jongin's face before it is forgotten, a relic of a time long past.

"Yes, then… then I will see you both tomorrow, I suppose."

Before Sehun has the chance to blink, Jongin is gone, a hushed sound escaping as the space he once occupied now stands bare.

Chanyeol sighs mightily after it is only the two of them once more, and when he turns to Sehun, he drags him into the tightest hug, his arms wrapped around Sehun so rigidly that Sehun thinks he might break. 

“Thank you,” Chanyeol whispers. 

Sehun doesn’t know how to tell him that he did almost nothing, but he hugs Chanyeol back, a drawn-out embrace that ends when Chanyeol thumps him on the back twice. 

“Come to my chambers,” Chanyeol says. “You’ve earned a glass of wine.”  
  


♔

Sehun rests on Chanyeol’s plush bed, one legged kicked over the other as Chanyeol busies himself with pouring the glasses full.

“Sit up straight,” Chanyeol says, and when he walks back to the bed, the glasses only a quarter full. Chanyeol sees him eyeing them. “I won’t have you spilling in my bed.” 

Sehun sits up from his recline, folding his legs in front of him. Chanyeol smiles, graciously hands him his glass before climbing onto the bed, sitting next to Sehun. They clink the rims of their cups together, a chime in the silent room, and they drink in that unbroken quiet. 

Chanyeol speaks when his glass is near empty, lips red. 

“Thank you,” he says, and he stares at the pool at the bottom of his cup. “I know I said it before, but I don’t… I don’t think I’ll ever stop saying it.” 

“I didn’t do anything,” Sehun says. 

Chanyeol reaches over, his free hand resting on Sehun’s knee. 

“You got him here.” Sehun looks to him, sees the walls falling down. “That’s more than I’ve ever been able to do.” 

Sehun smiles tightly, taut across his lips. It does not feel like a victory. It feels like inevitability. It feels like the rest is obvious, feels like everything is predestined to happen. He wants to fight against it, wants to struggle against the ties that bind him. 

“What ails you, hm?” He runs the back of his hand against Sehun’s face, eyes too analytic, too judging for Sehun’s liking. 

“Nothing.” 

“I know you too well now,” Chanyeol says. And Sehun looks to him. Sees the sadness returned in him. “Tell me.” 

Sehun lifts the glass to his lips, hesitates over it before he swallows what’s left. 

“You know where I go after I’m finished with my work here, don’t you?” 

Chanyeol sighs, shoulders heaving. 

“It is not set in stone,” Chanyeol says. 

“Of course it is,” Sehun says. “All of time is set now.” 

Chanyeol takes the glass from Sehun’s hand, sets it down onto the bedside table. He turns back, takes Sehun’s face in his hands. 

“Nothing is ever set,” Chanyeol says, and there is a reawakened fire in him, bright red and pulsing like passion. “For so long, I thought… I thought that I would never seen him again. I thought it set. I thought—,” and he shuts his eyes, a smile blooming on his face, and the gold, oh, it roars in Sehun’s chest. “I thought I would never get the chance to make things right. But the world moves, and we move with it.” 

“Yes,” Sehun answers, but the choice of where to move… that’s what Sehun longs for.  
  


♔

In the morning, Sehun bathes, dresses smartly, pushes his hair back. It grows longer by the day, down his neck, and he thinks about cutting it as he stares in the mirror. Immediately, he rethinks the idea. Perhaps he will grow it long like when he was a child, fashion it in braids down his back when it gets long enough. His fingers still remember the movements for the three strand, and he holds the hair hooked in his fingers, quickly braids the length he has.

He walks to Chanyeol's chambers feeling light, thinking of the good work they might do, but when he arrives, he peers through the glass doors and sees two shadowy figures instead of just one. 

Sehun gently rolls the door open, quiet so as to not draw their attention, and he spies on them as they stand there, a tension of unknowable condition. 

Jongin looks around, studies the room with a smirk on his face, not unlike the smirk Sehun’s seen Chanyeol wear before. 

“I see you’ve yet to pick new curtains,” Jongin says, and he folds his arms across his chest as if he’s protecting his most valuable asset: his heart. 

"If you ever returned," Chanyeol says, "I did not want to repeat the sins of my past."

Jongin ducks his head, and Sehun cannot see whether he smiles or frowns, but there is a breath that escapes him, one that sounds like a laugh.

"You're very clever," Jongin says. "Clever, and good with your words too. You always were."

"I am not so clever." Chanyeol steps forward as if he was pulled by an invisible tether. "If I was clever, I never would have let you go."

Jongin turns away from him, and Sehun is too slow. Jongin locks eyes with him, and before Sehun can blink, Jongin is standing there before him, hand braced on the glass door.

"Hello, little one," Jongin smiles. "Spying?"

Sehun stands a little straighter. "I prefer observing."

"Oh, that's a very generous way to label it, wouldn't you say?"

Sehun smiles, an unfamiliar streak of mischief in his stomach, and Jongin laughs, a high sound, before he reaches out, takes the loose, unraveling braid in his hand.

"Are you here to escort us to breakfast?" Jongin asks.

"Yes," Sehun says.

Jongin turns back, and Sehun cannot see how he looks at Chanyeol, but Chanyeol wears a small smile when Jongin asks, "Shall we?"  
  


♔

It begins slowly, as such things are wont to do.

Sehun makes himself scarce as they stroll through gardens, as they visit the labyrinth, as he shows him menageries and art houses, orphanages, butcher shops and temples. Sehun stands on the balcony, watches Jongin walk carefully, hands behind his back, as Chanyeol talks animatedly about the kingdom. It is obvious, his pride, and Jongin smiles at him, seemingly endeared.

He is not privy to their conversations, prefers to give them the privacy they so desperately need, but they speak quite a lot if the feeling in his chest is to be trusted. Sometimes, the light blooms, other times, it dies, and Sehun plays with the winds in his hands, batting the leaves of plants around as he waits for something to _happen_. There is no physical affection, at least none that Sehun sees, and at the end of the day, they only bow to each other before Jongin blinks through space, returns to Gochidana.

Sehun is curious, _deathly_ curious, but Chanyeol gives him little to go on. He hurries behind him after dinner, trying to catch up.

"It's nothing," Chanyeol says, but his smile grows brighter and brighter with every passing sun, and Sehun is no fool. "He is just… he is still just as pleasant as he always was."

"Pleasant," Sehun scoffs. "Have you _buried the past_? Is all finally forgiven?"

"You do not bury the past." Chanyeol slows to a stop, and Sehun stops next to him. "And we will never bury the past. But we have sown new seeds beside the crops of old, and we will reap them when the time comes."

Sehun furrows his brow when Chanyeol smiles, picks up again, heading off towards his chamber.

"What does that _mean_?" Sehun calls. "Speak plainly!"

But Chanyeol does not turn, does not even respond. The only sound Sehun hears is the happy whistling echoing in the halls.  
  


♔

It is not always pretty, of course. There are some coarse moments, rough against the skin, and Sehun can tell when it's been a bad day because they are so quiet over dinner. He finds himself mending silences, filling them with conversations about senseless things. The tension fades, and by the end, they are smiling at each other once more, their bows to each other just as cordial as always.

Jongin leaves, gone before Sehun opens his eyes once more, and Chanyeol throws his head back with a groan.

"What was it today, then?" Sehun asks.

"Arguments from decades past, as always," Chanyeol says, and he shakes his head with a little laugh. "They are hard to forget."

"But forgetting is part of forgiving, isn't it?"

Chanyeol smiles at Sehun. He crosses to him, kisses him on the cheek.

"No," Chanyeol says. "If you forget, you do not grow."  
  


♔

Jongin stays longer and longer, even goes so far as to stay in the capital for days at a time now, and Sehun is happy for it. It feels like growth, like slow, steady growth, and they go to the solarium in the evenings as a trio now, the moon and stars providing all the light they need.

"Do you still play?" Jongin asks, gesturing to the harp when he sees it. 

"Never stopped," Chanyeol says. 

And Jongin bites his lip between his teeth, chewing on a grin. 

"Do you want me to play?" Chanyeol asks. 

Jongin's nod is slow, and he takes a seat on the paved floor near a small patch of the desert flowers, and he looks to Sehun, patting next to him. Sehun goes, and as he takes a seat, the zephyrs of the strings begin to float lightly through the air. 

Jongin's head falls to Sehun's shoulder as he listens, and Sehun leans on Jongin, too, watching Chanyeol's hands pluck the strings masterfully, his eyes peacefully closed as he plays. 

It is hard not to fall in love with someone when they look so competent and gifted, and Jongin inhales softly as the song rises to a climax, some beautiful, tumbling melody that sounds like something a bard would kill and die for. 

When the night is over, and they stand, Jongin goes to Chanyeol and hugs him close, Chanyeol's eyes wide, bright red, thrown to the fires of the soul. 

"I will see you come the morning sun," Jongin says, and he turns back to Sehun nodding his head. 

He blinks into his chambers, leaving Chanyeol and Sehun standing there, awash in the bright golden light of blooming forgiveness.  
  


♔

Sehun watches them get closer and closer, and his interest, his curiosity grows with their progress. He sees their friendship fall back into place, the dust swept away, and there is a playfulness about them that Sehun could have never imagined a sennight, a fortnight prior. They brush hands, slap shoulders, nudge into each other as if nothing of great import ever happened between them. Sehun loves seeing it, and he wonders privately to himself if his mission is nearing completion.

Chanyeol goes to meetings in the mid-mornings, and it is Sehun's only time along with Jongin, so he pounces like a cat upon its prey. 

"What?" Jongin asks, and he flits across the garden to grab a watering can before flitting back. "You're looking at me funny."

"Yes, well," Sehun says, straightening his spine, "I suppose I would like to know exactly what your intentions are."

"My _intentions_." Jongin laughs sharply as he upends the water over the desert roses. "Are you his father? Am I to ask you for his hand?"

"Are you interested in his hand?"

Jongin rolls his eyes, shoves his shoulder into Sehun's. He feels stronger with every day that passes, though, and so he tests that power, calls the winds to him.

A tornado erupts between them, and Jongin's eyes go wide with surprise before he blinks away from it as Sehun accidentally tears up the garden, the flowers ripped from the dirt, and the soil flying all around him. He sputters through it, the wind dying out, and he spits onto the ground, brushes his face clean.

"You absolute _fool_ ," Jongin laughs, clutching his stomach as he screams through his high-pitched giggle. But he flits back across the garden, gathering a plant up in his hands, checking the roots. "Come, sweep the soil back to the plot. I'll help."

Sehun grimaces, but he calls the winds again, calmer, gentler winds, and Jongin snorts as he begins to patch it all back together.  
  


♔

It is dark when the feeling calls him, bids him wake. He breathes harshly through his nose as it swells within him, bright gold but tingling, the power surging as if grease upon a raging fire. He cannot control it as he floats into the air, closing his eyes as he relishes in it.

It reminds him of the moment back in Avonrose, and he lets the power move him, goes with it, moves with it, and before he knows it, he is pushing the window open, gliding through into the cool night air. He circles the castle a dozen times over, body cutting through the air as the winds sweep across him, leak from his pores.

He swallows his laughter, the eruption of joy, and then, he spots it. A burning of light, the rest of the city darkened with midnight.

He floats to the window, called upon, dragged as if by a tether, and when he goes, he sees two shadowy figures, wrapped in the arms of the other. The room is lit by a thousand candles, and as they embrace, the light raises, the fires palpitating as a heartbeat, and Sehun sees Jongin, sees Chanyeol, sees them share a kiss, deep and bright like the spot of bright warm fire in the night.

Sehun looks away with a smile, and his heart feels full as he flies back to his bed, content with another pair brought back together as he watched over them.  
  


♔

They do not betray themselves, and Sehun keeps silent over breakfast, watching as they treat each other no differently than the sun before, sharing food, breaking bread, spirited and exuberant as they are.

"I thought a ride might be nice," Chanyeol comments. "Would that please you?"

"It would," Jongin says. "It has been a great while since I've ridden."

Sehun snorts, and they both look at him curiously.

"What?" Jongin asks. "Are you well?"

"Not so well as _the two of you_ ," Sehun says, pointing a finger at them both.

Chanyeol looks down with a smile, but Jongin's face does not reveal anything, a practiced look of nothingness.

"I'm afraid I do not know of what you speak."

"I'm most sure that you do," Sehun says, narrowing his eyes. "What a joyful reunion! Were you _ever_ going to tell me?"

"There was plenty of time for all that," Jongin says. "It is still new. Fledgling."

"You are the most famous lovers of all time!" Sehun shouts, and of course, the din of the dining room chooses to fall at that exact moment, leaving him screaming over silence. He looks around, sees them all staring at him, at the three of them, and he bows his head at them in apology before looking back to Jongin and Chanyeol who wear their arms folded across their chests, gazing at him with disappointment in their eyes. "Well, I _apologize_."

"The whole kingdom will know within the hour," Chanyeol says. "Very well done."

"If you'd told me, I would have been able to keep my mouth shut!" Sehun argues. "I wouldn't have told a soul!"

"Except perhaps for Junmyeon, Jongdae, your friends across the kingdoms, Baekhyun—"

"Quiet!" Sehun says. "I can keep secrets!"

Chanyeol leans his head onto Jongin's shoulder as he sighs, and the casual tenderness suggests history, suggests growth, suggests that his journey here is nearing its end.  
  


♔

There are celebrations that spring up across Hwajae Hills as the rumors swirl: star-crossed lovers reunited. It is a story too good to ignore, and it spreads like wildfire across the kingdoms. So quickly does the news spread that the next letter Sehun receives from Taeil asks for confirmation, and Sehun is all too happy to reply that yes, the rumors are true.

They rest in the solarium, the long bed off to the side large enough for the three of them to lounge. It is a comfort, like he has found a home here. 

“You delight in our reunion more than anyone else,” Jongin laughs. “More than he or I, even.” 

“I do not,” Sehun says. 

“You do,” Chanyeol comments, and he scratches his fingers along Sehun’s scalp, eliciting a shiver. “And we love you for it.” 

Sehun lies between them, and they play with his hair, lulling him to sleep under the high sun. He starts to float away, so calm that the winds seek to take him, but Jongin and Chanyeol each grab him by the arm, pulling him back to the pillows. 

“Have you decided?” Chanyeol asks. 

“Decided what?” 

“When you will leave us,” Chanyeol says, and he reaches down, laces his fingers with Sehun’s, “to return to your lover.” 

Sehun holds Chanyeol’s hand between his own, their fingers dancing over each other’s. 

“He is not my lover.” 

Jongin snorts. 

“We desired the flesh of the other,” Sehun says. “Lust, it was an untamable thing. There was little love.” 

Chanyeol barks a laugh, and Sehun turns in the embrace to watch Chanyeol throwing his head back as if for effect. Sehun furrows his brow, scowling at him.

“Surely you don’t mean the foolish words you speak,” Chanyeol says. 

“Of course I mean them. Why would I speak words I do not mean?” 

Chanyeol’s loud laugh splinters through him again, and Sehun pushes back from them, turning, growing in anger. 

“My apologies,” Chanyeol says, but when Sehun looks, he does not stop grinning. “It’s only that… it appears as if you believe such a falsehood. And that—I cannot believe that you believe it, my dear.” 

Sehun stares out the windows, at the stretches of sand. White ivy creeps up the glass in a swirling pattern, the filigree of the vines delicate and yet so strong. 

“He is your water, your wine.” Sehun looks at Chanyeol, sees the way the fires bleed him dry. _Will I be bled dry? Will I bring such things upon myself?_ “Same as Jongin is to me. Water, wine. The cloth at my back. Sword at my waist. The power…” and he thumps his fist against his chest, “that beats within me. It is him. And it will always be him. For as long as I’m living, and long, long after that.” 

Jongin makes a hushed sound, and Sehun watches them share a soft kiss. They are soulmates. Parts of a greater whole. 

“Our love, Baekhyun’s and my own… it was not so deep as that.” 

“And here I thought you pious and true,” Chanyeol says. “Rejecting all falsehoods. Rejecting those who spin such falsehoods. But now...now you lie to yourself.” 

It is with fury that he stands, makes to leave. 

“Leave it,” Sehun says. “You know not of this.” 

“I know much, and you pretend me stupid.” 

“Shut up,” Sehun says. “Shut _up_.” 

Chanyeol stands, and he crosses quickly, hands at Sehun’s jaw. Sehun tries to wrench his way away, but Chanyeol holds him firmly. 

“I won’t see you ruin your love,” Chanyeol whispers. “I won’t see you become me.” 

“If I was to become you, I would choose duty.” And he stares at Chanyeol’s eyes, going scarlet. “I would choose loving him. I would choose honoring the prophecy.” 

The fires in his eyes calm, and he turns Sehun’s face in his hands. His lips against Sehun’s cheek are gentle, soft, and they brush for only a moment. 

“You think yourself so wise.” It comes as a whisper as he turns Sehun’s face again, this time baring the other cheek. Once more, he kisses Sehun softly, and he guides Sehun to face front, words sweeping along his lips. “But there is so little you understand of yourself. I saw the way you looked at him.” 

“And much has happened since.” 

“Yes, you are correct, my sweet. Much has happened since,” Chanyeol says. He leans forward, resting his forehead along Sehun’s. Sehun closes his eyes. Listens as if listening to a sweet song. “And there is much still to come.”  
  


♔

They waste time. They feast. They ride. Chanyeol and Jongin become two of his best friends, and for a sennight, Sehun allows himself to forget about duty, about forgiveness, about prophecy.

Sehun is not blind, and he sees the way Jongin and Chanyeol look at him when they think he isn’t looking. But he is too tangled up in side. He does not know what he wants. He does not know where his heart belongs, or if it belongs anywhere at all.  
  


♔

_The world is red, like bloody ash, and the moon is full and white above it. Sehun stands on the yellowing hills, staring at the sclera of the sky. And for a moment, it blinks at him, the eye of the moon going dark before bright white again. Where is he? Where has he come from? Where is he going?_

_It all conflates, blends like wet paints on a palette, mixed by an expert hand. Was it him? Did he spread such eloquent color, soft-spoken and sweet? The dulcet words of moonlight, of roses and rhymes? Couples and their couplets?_

_He knows where he is. Knows where he is going. Knows intensely, beautifully, where he has been._

_He is deep within the heart of Baekhyun, in the red blood of his body. The white of his eyes. Where is the love within him? Isn’t it there, within the heart and the eyes? Was his love true? Is there such a thing? True love?_

_Yes, he thinks as he looks up to the bleeding sky. Yes, his love was true. It mattered not what lies slipped like cool rains from broken grey clouds. He loved, gave love, and wanted love with every breath he took._   
  


♔

He wakes with sweat on his brow, hands clutched in the soft sheets. He cannot stop the racket of his chest, and it scares him, the way he cannot find his breath. He sits up straight, the covers pooled at his waist, and he knows that it is time. He’s waited long enough now. He is ready.

Over breakfast, he tells them. Their hands are clasped over the top of the table, and they look into each other’s eyes, a silent conversation in a language that Sehun still knows not. He sits straight, watches it all unfold smooth like a tablecloth, and then, Jongin turns towards him. 

“You would return to the Bichwood as intended?” 

“Yes,” Sehun says. “It is time. I had… I had a dream.” 

“And in this dream,” Chanyeol says, “did you see your love?” 

Sehun doesn’t like how Chanyeol can look past all artifice, the way he sees the viscera within the winds. He sneers at him, but Chanyeol seems delighted all the same. 

“It matters not what I saw.” 

They look to each other again, more quiet words, quiet smiles. Yes, that golden feeling, it bathes him in light and sound, the way they look at each other. It is an affection that he might never know, an intimacy of mind, body, and soul. 

“I will take you,” Jongin says. “Whenever you want to leave, I will take you. Your kindness—” 

“It is not kindness,” Sehun says. “It is only what is right.” 

“There is much kindness in doing what is right,” Chanyeol says. “And you must remember that, even when you are deep within the heart of his kingdom. Do not forget who you are. Who you have always been.” 

_That_ , Sehun thinks _has always been the problem. I cannot forget who I am, even when I’d like to._  
  


♔

He does not take much with him. After all, his return requires no great travel, no long, winding journey. No sights to see. Within the blink of an eye, he will be back to the grandest palace the world has ever seen, back where he was once so prized that he wore a crown of gold, where he was once so treasure that he sat beside a king. He tries not to smile when he thinks of the memories, but the smile comes all the same, the way sun breaks through night to bring the day.

Chanyeol hugs him close. 

“You don’t have to be with him,” Chanyeol reminds him. “If you don’t want to offer your forgiveness, you don’t have to. It’s not as if it’s written into law. You have choice in all this. You do.” 

Sehun shuts his eyes, lets himself think of Baekhyun. Destiny. If he returns to Baekhyun’s arms, will they feel just as soft? Just as warm? Will things go back to how they were? Will they be better? 

He is thinking about the wrong things. He is not angry enough. He doesn't feel as much disappointment as he should. He is going to slip into destiny, into the swirling gales that demand his acquiescence. 

Chanyeol withdraws from the embrace, laughs a bit, right into Sehun’s face. 

“Don’t look so troubled,” Chanyeol says, and he reaches out, takes Sehun’s cheek in his hand. It is rough with time, with work, and Sehun leans into it. “You’re nearly there. And your heart should feel light. After all of it is through, you’re free.” 

_But I’ll never be free of him,_ Sehun thinks. _That cold cruel man who they all call Fate._

Jongin pulls him away from Chanyeol, tugs him into his arms, and he whispers into Sehun’s ear. “You mustn’t be afraid to choose what you desire. It is not a failure to want what you want. It is not your destiny to be pulled in different directions. And you have a choice in all this. You do. Nothing is beyond choice. Remember it well.” Sehun nuzzles into Jongin’s shoulder, and Jongin squeezes him tighter. 

He pulls back, and Sehun pulls the hood over his head, the veil up from his neck, wrapped over his nose and mouth. 

“Are you ready?” Jongin asks. 

“No,” Sehun says, but that doesn’t stop him from grabbing Jongin’s hand anyway, tumbling through the great expanse of space, and falling at the foot of the Bichwood once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the gang's gettin back together so shape up or ship out baby!!!!! 
> 
> i hope u liked this chapter. if u did, that's very good and i'm glad bc you've still got one more to go. if u didn't, well, at least there's only one more to go and u will be freed soon. to be very honest, it is so surreal that this will be over in one week's time! ive been elbow deep in pilgrimage for three months and a half months now, and it's just like.....Crazy to think that this much work is gonna be at it's end. 
> 
> cant believe ive wasted so much time on this skfjksg
> 
> anyway. thank u for wasting ur time right along w me. have a good week, folks. lets go july, im ready to spend all my non-existent money.
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfsupremacist) | [my curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/wolfsupremacist)


	9. book three, chapter three

Jongin holds him close. Sehun cherishes it. 

What exactly is he doing? And for what purpose? 

“You can always call on me,” Jongin says. “And you can always fly.” 

Everyone keeps telling him so, but in his experience, power is fickle. 

Jongin smiles, kissing him on the cheek before he steps back, and with a little wave of his hand, he disappears from sight, the air changed without him occupying it. 

He is alone once more. 

He steps through the gates, and it is like the first time he came to the Bichwood. They are in the heart of winter, and people wear their thickest cloaks even though it’s still not anywhere close to _cold_. They are in preparations for the winter feast, the celebration of the solstice, but it is decidedly less grand than it was the year past. Still, the town functions happily, lives and prospers, and the greatest part of his whole is glad for it. 

In nightmares, he saw the Bichwood collapsing around itself, saw Baekhyun fallen on marble tiles with tears in his eyes. How would he lie to the people? How would he admit to Sehun’s departure? Sehun thought perhaps Baekhyun would tell everyone that he had died, defending the city against some sort of danger to them all, have him called a hero, stage a burial in the crypts. Have a statue of him carved. Have him called god-king in death. 

But there are no statues, and when he keeps his face veiled, no one even seems to notice him. For a while, it is freeing. The anonymity of it. He strolls through streets that once stopped for him, and they do not stop for him now. They’ve moved on. And Sehun is glad. 

He can’t stop for a meal, knows that if anyone saw his face, he would be immediately caught. Sehun walks forward towards the palace, and when he’s faced with the choice between the elegant formal stairs, two flights draped in gold and red leading to the grand doors of the great foyer, and the small wooden door to the side of the place, he realizes there is not much choice at all. 

Sehun walks to the priests’ entrance, and two Golds, shoulders and chests lined in golden armor stamped with the pointed sun. Both are tall, but a bit shorter than him, and they eye him carefully. It is then that Sehun pulls down his hood, takes the veil away from his face, and he watches their gazes heighten from alertness to shock, awe. 

Before they have the chance to fall to a knee before him, he grabs them both by the arm, smiles at them. 

“Well met,” he says. 

“And you,” the one on the left says. “Well met…” 

“I don’t want to make much of a fuss,” Sehun tells them. “Would you be able to help me with that?” 

The one on the left looks to the one on the right, and they share a silent moment of communication. Sehun resists the urge to shift his weight from foot to foot, tries to remain still. He always _thought_ the rest of the priests liked him, after he made it known his only intention was to help, but there’s no way to know truly. It wasn’t as if anyone would have challenged him: he was the second most powerful man in the kingdom. He was untouchable. 

Maybe he’s made a grave mistake. Maybe they will take quickly, hit him over the head until he sleeps, and then bring him straight to Baekhyun. He waits there, a prisoner to how they feel, and he hopes that— 

“Where do you want to go?” the one on the left asks. 

Sehun smiles. “Do you know Taeil?” 

They look at each other with a smile, and then they look back at him. “You wanna see Taeil?” 

“I-If that’s not too much trouble,” Sehun says. 

“No trouble at all,” the right one says, and without another moment’s deliberation, he pushes the wooden door open with a familiar creak, and they both step through, waiting for him to pass through in turn. 

The entrance to the priests’ quarters looks much different, much more inviting since the last time he saw it. It is decorated warmly with vases of white and blue flowers, and Sehun notes all the differences as they pass, leading him through the halls. He’s only been gone for… well, he supposes it’s just shy of a half year, but still, there are so many changes. Was it always so _homey_? Did he only imagine the cold air when he first arrived? 

An arm shoots up, and Sehun halts to a stop. 

“Your veil,” the Gold whispers back to him. 

Sehun quickly raises his hood, brings the veil up over his mouth, turns slightly as the two men block him in the archway, shielding him from sight. 

He hears two voices pass by, and when he looks, just a tilt of his head, it’s a Red and a White, strolling through the halls together, pushing carts. Sehun doesn’t catch a glimpse of what was inside, but it hits him just how much the place has changed without him. Priests of such different levels, working together? It would have been unheard of before. 

“Now,” the other Gold says, “it is clear.” 

Sehun follows them, and he realizes as they walk that they bring him to the library. It has been a very long time, but he remembers the way well. 

He smiles secretly as they walk him inside, hiding him behind a bookshelf before walking to the rest, making up some excuse to get them from the room. 

"Not you," one of them says. "We'll fetch you later." 

Taeil's voice speaks next, and it is the most beautiful sound after so long an absence. 

"Always being left out," he sighs, but the two Golds laugh, and soon, his own laugh joins them. "Fine, fine. Fetch me later then. I've got plenty of work here to keep me busy." 

Sehun waits until he hears the heavy sound of the door closing before he steps out from behind the shelf, watching Taeil as he putters around the tables, putting a stack of books into place before going back to the table, closing the record that laid open on the table. It is a large tome, and Taeil wraps his arms around it as he moves. 

Quickly, Sehun lowers his hood, lowers his veil, and he clears his throat. Taeil whips around at the sound, and, oh, he is beautiful. 

His hair is longer now, and his complexion looks healthful, a rose-pink at his cheeks. His eyes are bright, happy, and Taeil’s brows shoot up when he sees Sehun. Sehun wonders if Taeil’s missed him as much as he’s missed Taeil. Sure, there have been letters, there has been communication, but it was not nearly enough. Standing in the presence of someone you love, someone who you cherish… nothing compares to it. Immediately, tears leap to his eyes, and his voice goes wavering as he speaks. 

“I-I’m sorry for not writing more,” Sehun says. “It was a long journey, but I’ve missed you so.” 

Taeil throws the book to the floor carelessly, and he sprints to Sehun. In a jump that nearly knocks Sehun to the ground, he wraps his arms around Sehun’s neck, and Sehun lets the momentum carry them into a circle. He laughs into Sehun’s skin, and it is the ultimate comfort, being with Taeil once more. 

Gently, he sets Taeil down, and fervently, Taeil fixes his robes from where they’ve gotten wrinkled. He bends down, picks up the book he dropped, and hugs it close to his chest. 

“What are you doing here?” Taeil asks, and he reaches out with a fist, punches Sehun in the shoulder. “You should have sent word! There’d be a feast in your honor.” 

Sehun rolls his eyes. “Precisely what I was trying to avoid.” 

“Oh yes, I’d forgotten in your absence,” Taeil says, and he twists his face in a mocking manner. “ _Poor me, I’m the Favored, and I’ve been a god all along. Isn’t my lot in life so monstrous and sad?_ ” 

“You’re not funny.” 

Taeil smiles, shows all his teeth. “No, perhaps not.” And he looks Sehun over, studies his robes. “Did you come far?” 

“From Hwajae Hills,” Sehun says. Taeil stares at Sehun like he’s gone mad. “I had a bit of help getting here.” 

“When _aren’t_ you getting help?” Taeil scoffs. He sets the book down onto the table, threads his arm around Sehun’s. “Come, come. I’m sure you must need a bit of a tour. So much has changed since your… _inelegant_ departure.”  
  


♔

Taeil brings Sehun to the dormitories, and Sehun marvels at the shifts. They are much more comfortable than Sehun remembers them, and there is personality at every bed when Taeil brings him into one of the Gold dorms, empty at the start of the day.

"Hyunwoo instituted a load of changes," Taeil says, and he waves an arm, letting Sehun sit on the mattress, plush and feathered. "We're treated so well now. There is no struggle, no prolonged and ugly _initiation_. We are all treated equally, though the Golds and Whites are given new opportunities as they progress." 

Sehun smiles, happy for it. It was such a monstrous process, and he wouldn't wish it on anyone.

"I am glad to hear it. Still, I would imagine some of the Whites and Golds weren't keen on it at first," Sehun smirks. "They did their time." 

Taeil kicks his toe against Sehun's foot. "There was a bit of… apprehension, but Hyunwoo called it growing pains, and now, we've all outgrown it." 

"That is good to hear." He nudges his toe into Taeil's foot. "And you? What of your station?" 

"After the last Triad, they charged me with the task of keeping the books," Taeil says proudly. "So mostly, I spend my days reading and writing. Not much labor." 

"Certainly well deserved." 

"Yes, certainly," Taeil says, and there is a moment of quiet that he keeps for a second, another second, and then a second more before breaking it between his hands. "But, Sehun, I must confess I… I do not know why you've returned." 

"It is complicated," Sehun says, and he twists his hands in his lap. "I wanted to tell you, truly, I did, but the letters… I did not want anyone to be able to read our correspondence." 

"Are you serious?" Taeil shakes out a laugh. "No one would read correspondence addressed to me." 

"If they knew it was coming from me, they would." 

Taeil laughs again, nudging his shoulder into Sehun’s, but Sehun does not return the laughter. Taeil takes notice, frowning, and he studies Sehun carefully for a moment. 

“My,” Taeil says, hand against Sehun’s cheek. “You’ve changed. So world-weary now, and in such a short period of time. How long have you been gone? Only five months, and yet, here you are, a changed man.” 

Sehun lowers his gaze, can’t bear to look into Taeil’s eyes. He has changed. The way he and Baekhyun left things—the way the emotions went rancid in his stomach, in his mouth. He thought on it too much. He allowed himself to be consumed by his anger now. And now… and now— 

“It plagues you,” Taeil says, and Sehun bites his lip between his teeth. “Is that why you’ve come? To settle the past?” 

“I suppose,” Sehun says. “But the past—”

“It still haunts you.” And Sehun looks up into his eyes, so comforting and soft. His hand strokes along Sehun’s cheek, and he smiles sadly. “You have lost the ability to forgive.” 

“Not the ability to forgive.” Sehun twists his hands together in his lap. “But maybe...maybe the ability to forgive him.” 

Taeil lowers his hand from Sehun’s face, turns, and he stares into the middle distance of the room. Sehun does not feel happy, doesn’t feel anything close. 

“You are always able to forgive,” Taeil says. “It is what makes you _you_.”

Sehun does not know how to tell Taeil that he is exhausted by always being the good one, the pure-hearted one. It is tiring always trying to hold himself to a higher standard, and just once, just _once_ Sehun would like to allow himself to be petty. To be unkind. 

“Perhaps I don’t want to be me any longer,” Sehun says. 

Taeil’s arms envelope him in a hug, one that is full of warmth and love, and Sehun closes his eyes as a tear slips down his face. 

“You will always be you.” He tightens his arms around Sehun’s body. “No matter how far you go, no matter who you see or what they tell you… you will always be you.” 

_I wish it wasn’t the case_ , Sehun thinks, but he rests his head against Taeil’s shoulder, allows himself this moment of weakness.  
  


♔

He stays hidden in the dormitories while he formulates a plan.

“You aren’t formulating a plan,” Taeil says, sliding the bowl forward. “You are just hiding.” 

“I have to approach things delicately,” Sehun tells him, but he takes the bowl all the same. Taeil had to return to his work for the morning and afternoon, and Sehun hasn’t had anything to eat in quite a while. The rations are just as simple as Sehun remembers, but there is a love about the food, the seasonings and spices a bit more careful, a bit more thought out. He moans as he chews through the egg, the onion. “Mm. This is good.” 

“I’ll pass along your compliments.” Taeil rolls his eyes. “You’re ignoring me.” 

“I’m speaking to you,” Sehun says, and even that throws him back to Chanyeol. Is he putting Taeil in the same position that Chanyeol put him in? Is he simply wasting time? Yes. Yes, of course that’s what he’s doing, but he—he buries his face in a hand. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“Do you ever?” 

Sehun looks up, greeted by a wry smile from Taeil, and he leans over to smack him on the shoulder. 

“Ow!” Taeil screeches. “Well, you _don’t_!” 

“That’s no reason to make fun,” Sehun grouses, and he lifts another mouthful of rice and egg to his mouth. “I am lost.” 

“Ah, you’re not lost.” Taeil perches his chin on a hand, smiling at Sehun. “You’re finally back where you belong.” 

“I don’t think this is where I belong.” He swallows again. “In fact, it is my greatest and most terrible fear that I might not belong _anywhere_.” 

There is a quiet as Sehun stares down at the bowl, lets his eyes go fuzzy. He once thought that _Baekhyun_ could be where he belonged. It never once crossed his mind that it was not smart to make homes out of people, that maybe the roof would collapse down around him. 

“You belong here,” Taeil says, reassuring. “And I will show you so.” 

Sehun furrows his brow, but he follows.  
  


♔

Taeil instructs him to pull his hood up, veil himself, and so Sehun does just that before they exit the Gold dorms, walking quickly through the halls. Even though Taeil is much shorter, Sehun has to struggle to keep pace with him—he is fast.

"Well, you must keep up if you intend to stay the silent man in the shadows," Taeil giggles, and Sehun resists the near-overwhelming urge to smack him.

Sehun immediately recognizes the way they walk after a moment, and he furrows his brow. Surely… surely the meetings are over for the day. Surely… surely Taeil knows what he's doing. He follows dutifully, his cloak sweeping along the marble floor, before stopping in front of the door.

Taeil gently raps a fist against it, and they both hold their breath as they wait.

To Sehun's surprise, it is not Baekhyun's voice that answers.

It is a soft voice, deep but sweet. One that Sehun remembers like the cool blue feeling of relief, of peace. He shuts his eyes as Taeil opens the door, and there, standing before him, is Joongi. 

"Sehun," he says. "It is good to see you once more, my friend."

The hood falls from him as he throws himself forward into Joongi's arms, sputtering out apologies.

"Sehun, _Sehun_ ," he laughs. "You do not need to apologize for anything."

"I left," Sehun says, and tears well in his eyes even as he squeezes them shut. "I left, and you had no one to help you, no one to help sort through the matters of the kingdom. And I didn't even leave word, I just _left_."

Someone clears their throat gently, and Sehun's eyes spring open, settling upon Hyunwoo and Hoseok.

"O-Oh," Sehun says, and he detaches himself from Joongi's arms, brushes his robes down as he lowers the veil from his mouth. "Oh, I'm—I'm so sorry, I didn't—"

"It's quite all right," Hyunwoo says, and he bows his head in Sehun's direction. "It is good to see you again, Sehun."

"Indeed," Hoseok smiles brightly before he too bows his head to Sehun. "The kingdom has missed your presence."

"Surely not," Sehun says, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck.

"Of course it did," Hyunwoo says, and he steps forward clapping Sehun on the shoulder. "In truth, we all did."

"There was much deliberation, those first few sennights," Joongi says, and when Sehun looks back to him, he is grinning. "How to delegate all the work that you had solely been responsible for."

Sehun tries to think, tries to remember the work to which they refer, but it never felt to him like responsibilities. Governing, the drawing of laws, dealing with the matters of diplomacy...he enjoyed it all for his time. It never felt like work, and he's known work.

Sehun bows lowly before them, turning it towards each of them.

"Please, accept my apology," Sehun says. "It was not my intention to leave you all."

A hand comes to his shoulder, and he rises, stands up straight as Hoseok holds him. "You need not apologize," he says. "We're just happy that you've returned."

Sehun smiles sadly. Despite their words, the kingdom seems to have functioned well under them. He wonders how much of it had to do with he and Baekhyun being out of the picture. He says as much, his smile turning to something coy under the jab.

The men look between each other, seemingly unsure of how to proceed, but it's Joongi who finally breaks the silence and speaks for the four of them.

"After a sennight had passed since your… departure," he says, hands folded in front of him, "Baekhyun began to attend the council meetings once more."

"O-Oh," Sehun says, and he steps back slightly. "Oh, I suppose I assumed…"

"I too assumed he would stay away at all costs," Joongi replies with a smile, "but it was not long before he joined the fray again."

Sehun tries to imagine it, the sullen look on his face, eyes red. He finds no happiness in such a picture, but a certain ugly satisfaction creeps up at Baekhyun's sadness. He brought it on himself, so Sehun does not feel an ounce of regret.

"Did it bring him joy, such work?" Sehun asks tightly.

Joongi laughs. "At first, it did not," he says. "But after a while, he seemed… he seemed to warm to it, actually."

"Oh," Sehun says, and he picks at the hem of his sleeve. "That's… that's good, then."

"Sehun, are you… are you here to stay?" Joongi asks.

Sehun hesitates, and he fiddles with his hands. 

"I do not think so."

Joongi turns to Hyunwoo, Hoseok, and Taeil, nodding at them, and one by one, they exit the room. Taeil looks over his shoulder with a smile before shutting the door behind him, leaving Sehun alone in the council chamber.

"Sehun, I know that he was wrong," Joongi says. "I know that he hurt you deeply. But if I might ask a favor of you…"

"Yes," Sehun says carefully. "What is it?"

"If you have come with the intent to do harm to him… if you have only come to berate and flagellate him…"

Sehun holds his hand up in front of Joongi as if to say _enough_.

"I have no such intentions," Sehun says. "I am here to make peace between us, and after such peace is attained, I will leave you all to your work."

Joongi's shoulders slump, perhaps in relief, perhaps in disappointment; Sehun cannot be sure.

"All right," Joongi says. "I trust in you as I trust in him."

"Wish I could say the same," Sehun snorts.

Joongi smiles, strange and crestfallen, and Sehun feels a desperate, untamable desire to fix what he's broken here.

"He has come very far since the festival months, since he met you," Joongi says. "I do not want to see him retreat to old habits. I do not want to see anything ruin the work he's done."

Sehun feels as if he's on trial for a crime he has not committed, and he boils.

" _As I said_ , it is not my intention."

"People do not always act solely on their intention," Joongi says. "People sometimes act on instinct. A viper strikes because that is what nature tells it to do: strike before you yourself are struck."

Sehun looks to the marble floor, swallows the wisdom like a pill.

"I am merely here to make peace, offer quick forgiveness," Sehun tells him. "Nothing more."

Joongi nods like he finally believes Sehun, and with that, Joongi walks over, opens the door.

"Come," he says. "I will take you to him."

"R-Right now?" Sehun asks.

"If your words are true, then it will only take a moment."

Joongi stares at him, and begrudgingly, Sehun follows, the door to the council room closing behind them.  
  


♔

It is a long walk to Baekhyun's chambers, and it is a quiet walk too. There is a tension shared between he and Joongi, pulled taut like a rope, and Sehun keeps on pulling, tighter and tighter until they stop before the doors, even grander than Sehun remembers.

"Then, I'll take my leave," Joongi says. He bows to Sehun, but it is stiff, too formal, and Sehun does not care for it. "Good evening."

"Good evening," Sehun answers, and then, he is alone again, standing in front of the only thing that separates him from Baekhyun.

Was it wise to come back to this place? What was it that he sought to accomplish? His is a heart in turmoil, and he has no earthly way of knowing what he truly wants.

He raises his hand slowly, knocks on the door softly at first and lets it grow.

He does not hear a response, so he knocks again. Still, there is no response.

Sehun rolls his eyes, opens the door, and steps through.

The room is unchanged, neat and orderly and pristine as Sehun remembers it. It is still the height of luxury, still decked in reds and golds, still… still the place where he fell deeply, madly for Baekhyun. The only thing that remains broken, the only thing that has yet to be fixed, is the stained glass window. The remnants, the shards… those are swept away. But the winds flood through the room, a hole where the colored sun used to reside.

Sehun swallows, looks around. Baekhyun is nowhere to be found, not even when he peeks around the archway to the bath. It is then that he notices the sliding door to the balcony ajar, the slightest zephyr, the smallest and sweetest wind gliding in.

Sehun goes to the door, pulls it open as quietly as he can manage, and there, he sees Baekhyun, standing in the moonlight, hands braced on the wrought iron of the railing.

Stepping forward into the night air, Sehun feels compelled by something deep inside to reach out and touch Baekhyun. He bites back that impulse, swallows it for a moment before he sees the way the light of the moon lands on his hair. After that, he cannot help himself.

He extends a hand, resting it on Baekhyun's shoulder.

Sehun can feel the way the air disappears from his lungs, and when Baekhyun turns, Sehun feels tears jump to his eyes.

"I thought it was a dream," Baekhyun whispers. "I thought I was sleeping, and that when I awoke, the feeling would be gone."

"What feeling?"

Baekhyun faces him fully, and Sehun tells himself to move his hand from Baekhyun's shoulder, but the touch feels too right.

"The feeling of home," Baekhyun says, and he takes Sehun's hand in his, moves it so that it rests on his heart. "Do you feel it?"

All that Sehun can feel is Baekhyun's heart in his hand, beating so fast that Sehun can hardly believe it. It feels like they are connected, a golden thread between them, and Sehun steps back, puts as much space as he can between their bodies, cuts the thread, hacks at it with a dull knife until there is nothing there. Nothing to fool him. Nothing to tempt him.

Baekhyun looks crushed, and Sehun looks away, stares at the dull pinpricks of firelight from the city streets below.

"Sehun, I—"

"You do not need to speak," Sehun says. "I only wished to let you know that I had returned. And that I am here to forgive you."

Baekhyun's eyes are molten gold and swirling, and if Sehun is not careful, he will fall into them again, be swallowed by them again. He looks away. Looks to the moon. It is bright. 

"How did you get here?" Baekhyun asks, and he smiles like he can't stop himself, like Sehun's mere presence is enough to bring him some sliver of happiness he's been missing. "By horse?"

"Jongin."

Baekhyun bites his lip between his teeth, smiles. "I should have known."

"Why?" Sehun asks. "Did Chanyeol send word that I was to arrive? That he and Jongin had mended their relationship?"

"N-No," Baekhyun stutters. "No, I—"

"It does not matter." He looks down at the floor of the balcony, the swirling stone. "What matters is that I am here."

It is quiet, a quiet that draws his eye, and Sehun looks up, sees Baekhyun smiling again, and it is an infuriating smile. _Do not look so pleased to see me. I am not pleased to see you. If I had a choice, I would not be here._

“Am I the last to know?” Baekhyun asks, but it does not sound childish, does not seem to be filled with petty anger. Just curiosity, a certain childlike quality to it. 

“I suppose, yes.” 

“Then might I formally welcome you home?” Baekhyun bows deeply, bends in half before Sehun before changing his mind, dropping to his knees, forehead pressed to the marble floor in front of Sehun’s feet. When Baekhyun speaks again, it is so hushed that Sehun almost misses it entirely. “The Bichwood has missed you terribly. Welcome, Favored.” 

“I am no longer the Favored,” Sehun says. 

Baekhyun is slow to raise his head, but when he leans back, sinking onto his heels as he stares up at Sehun, he wears a shy smile. 

“Of course you are. As long as you are living, you will always be my Favored.” 

Sehun scoffs, looks to the side, and when he looks back, Baekhyun has his hands folded in his lap, still gazing up at Sehun. 

“Get up,” Sehun says roughly. “You only serve to embarrass yourself.” 

“There is nothing to embarrass.” But he stands to his feet anyway, brushing down the sides of his silken robe. “I have been humbled by my love for you.” 

It shocks a laugh from Sehun's chest, and Baekhyun smiles brightly. _No_ , Sehun thinks. _It is a trick. He is using his charm against you. Do not fall for such parlor tricks. Do not yield. You have a mission. Complete it._

“I am not here for your words. I am not here for your humbleness, nor for your love. I am here to complete my mission, and you are the final piece,” Sehun says. “I will not fall victim to destiny and her wills. I am above it. We are both above it. We will treat each other as… as strangers.” 

Baekhyun reaches out, pets the back of his hand along Sehun’s cheek. 

“How could we possibly treat each other as strangers now?” Baekhyun asks. “When we’ve had each other in every possible way? When we love each other still? Or do you deny it? Do you no longer love me?” 

Sehun turns sharply, keeps his eyes low, and Baekhyun’s hand falls away. 

“I deny it,” Sehun says. 

A beat of quiet, another, another, and Sehun fills the silence as he finds that he hates it now.

“Do not mistake my presence here as ignorance or forgetfulness. I do not belong to you any longer.” 

Baekhyun draws breath, and Sehun looks back at him, sees the hurt in his eyes. 

“You never belonged _to_ me, you simply belonged _with_ me. Belonged by my side,” Baekhyun says. “I’ve… I know I erred. We both know very well that I’ve erred.” 

“A mild way to put it, isn’t it?” 

Baekhyun huffs out the breath, all the words cut from him, and Sehun sees his shoulders shake when he lowers his head. 

“I don’t want to argue with you. I want to… I want to mend what’s broken between us.” 

“Good,” Sehun says. “Then at least we’re on the same page.” 

“Are we?” Baekhyun asks. He brings his hands up, as if he means to take Sehun’s face in his hands, but slowly, slowly he curls his hands closed around air. “It does not seem as though you want to mend us. It seems… forgive me, but it seems as if you want nothing to do with me.” 

_Quiet_ , Sehun thinks. _Because whenever you speak, it confuses my heart._

“If that was the case, then would I be here?” he says, keeping his voice very even. 

Baekhyun smiles with a closed mouth, but it is pretty all the same. 

“No. I suppose not.” 

There is another silence between them, one that Sehun does not know what to do with. It is unwieldy, cumbersome in his hands, and Baekhyun speaking throws him further off balance. 

“Has Jongin waited for you?” Baekhyun asks. “Will you return tonight?” 

Sehun tries not to show his horror, but he… he realizes how stupid he’s been. He should have told Jongin to wait. Should have jumped back to Hwajae Hills as soon as the deed was done. But much as he’d like the mission to be complete, he knows it isn’t. He has not yet felt the prong of tri-toned gold in his chest, the blooming of an eternal flower in his ribcage. A simple word won’t do. No, he knew it from the start. 

“No,” Sehun says. “I will stay in the capital for at least a sennight. Until what’s broken is repaired.” 

Baekhyun bites his lip, brows raising like he can’t quite believe it. 

“Then, please,” Baekhyun says, “allow me to offer you hospitality. Stay here for as long as you need.” 

“Thank you,” Sehun nods curtly. 

Baekhyun takes Sehun’s hand in his, and it feels so comforting, so reassuring that Sehun forgets to pull away. 

“Will you come to the council meeting tomorrow?” Baekhyun asks. “Joongi has told me how greatly he misses your presence. I’ve no great mind for governing.” 

It is meek, married with a deferential smile, and Sehun frowns as he pulls his hand back from Baekhyun’s. Still, he nods. If nothing else, he wants to see how they’ve gotten on without him. Truly. Not just words. 

“Just wait here, I’ll have a special room prepared for you,” Baekhyun says. 

“That won’t be necessary,” Sehun tells him, and he turns from the room. He lingers, hand on the knob of the door. “I will meet you at sunrise.” 

He does not look back, does not wait long enough to hear the answer.  
  


♔

He holds a breath in his chest for as long as he can before he pushes it out slowly, steadily. On his walk back to the dormitories of the Gold, Sehun has time to think, time to deconstruct and better understand.

Baekhyun looked different. No less beautiful, of course, there is little to be done about such natural and insuppressible beauty. But his hair was longer, longer the way Sehun's is longer. It's down at his shoulders now, threatening to spill over his back in a wave of white gold. It was held back from his face in a simple three-strand braid, and that called even more attention to the gentle rounding of his face, the fattening of his cheeks, the barest hint of a shadow under his chin. He looked happy, looked better than Sehun can remember him ever looking.

He wonders if maybe they were wrong for each other the whole time. Maybe they got caught in a trap of the great creator's design, fell into it and couldn't scratch their way out. But now that both of them are free, maybe this is way it was always meant to be.

Sehun stands before the door to the dorms, tries to will the door open. _Winds,_ he thinks. _Show me the true power that lies within._

The door pushes open weakly, a farce, and he rolls his eyes as he steps inside, walking as silently as he can manage through the room full of Golds. They don't seem to notice at first, and Sehun's glad of it, but once a whisper hisses out, the chorus of them follow. Sehun walks over to Taeil's bed, sits down, and the whole room is looking at him, dozens of eyes staring back at him.

"Yes," Taeil says, "he's here. So get it all out of your systems now, because if I see any one of you poking or prodding at him or bothering him in any way, I'll—"

"I-It's okay. You needn't worry," Sehun says, and he raises his hands slowly to Taeil before turning to the rest. "I won't be here for very long, so please, forgive me for my intrusion and treat me as you'd treat anyone else."

There is a hopeful but tense silence, and Sehun folds his hands across his lap happily, looking back at them all. There are faces he can remember, freshly promoted Reds-turned-Gold. Long standing Golds waiting for their first white rope. It isn't until one pipes up that the silence breaks, a bigger Gold with light brown hair, broad shoulders raising a hand.

"Can you really fly?" he asks.

"Um, most days," Sehun says. "My power is not yet at its fullest form."

"Can you show us?"

Sehun focuses, channels everything he can into it and suddenly, the boy scrambles for purchase across his bed as his body starts to float into the air, and the Gold next to him laughs as he takes his hand, struggles to pull him back to the cot.

"Is that enough?" Sehun asks with a smile. "Or shall I show you again?"

He takes questions in stride for the evening, and when it is time to curl up alongside Taeil's bed on the floor, he feels strangely comforted. The room goes loud with snores and the sounds of sleep from two dozen men, and he nudges Taeil with his hand, smiling up at him as he leans over the edge of his bed.

"How did your audience fare?" Taeil grins.

"He was… he was a bit different," Sehun says.

Taeil huffs a breath, and he leans back onto his bed, so far back that Sehun cannot see him any longer.

"I never much cared for him after I heard how he treated you." Sehun can hear the smile on his face. "But in your absence, there has been a quieting in him. A gentleness that none of us knew of him before." He leans back over the bed, peeking over at Sehun. "Only something to think about, of course."

Sehun smiles, tight across his lips.

"Of course."  
  


♔

At the tolling of the sixth bell, they rise.

“Late, no?” Sehun asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

“Perhaps,” Taeil says, and he stands, stretches, showing a sliver of his stomach when he reaches towards the ceiling. “Everyone is much happier now that they’re getting more sleep. Shouldn’t be much of a surprise, to be fair, but everyone works much better when they’re rested. No need to repeat cleanings when they’ve been done right the first time.” 

Sehun nods, standing from his spot on the floor, and he mirrors Taeil’s stretch, a great tensing of his body before he rubs his stomach. 

Sehun smiles. “I suppose breakfast is the same, though.” 

“Oh, will you eat all our food and not work for it?” He tilts his head to the side before shoving Sehun off-balance. 

“I’ll be serving, I’ll serve.” He wraps his robe around himself, stepping into his sandals. “Do you attend council meetings? As the keeper of books?”

“Of course,” Taeil says. 

“Well, then,” Sehun smiles, “we’re in the same boat, it seems.” 

Taeil rolls his eyes. 

“I’ve done more work in a day then you have in your entire life,” Taeil teases, and they walk to the galleys arm in arm, playfully jousting with one another, and loath as he is to admit it, it feels extremely good to be back.  
  


♔

The meal is just as delicious as Sehun expected, because if he’s learned one thing during his travels, it's that even simple ingredients can yield a delicious meal. They eat clear soup with onion and mushrooms, eggs that have been scrambled and rolled, and they help themselves to a selection of fruits. Sehun naturally gravitates towards the strawberries, but he also ladles spoonfuls of melon and pineapple into his bowl as well.

The dining hall is lively with conversation, much livelier than Sehun could remember from so long ago, and it is heartening: at the very least, the priests are happier here. Hyunwoo and Hoseok have done their work well. 

“I normally work in the libraries until the afternoon,” Taeil says once they're finished, their plates and dishes laid in the sinks for washing. “And then once we’ve had lunch, the council meets until dinner.” 

“Would you mind terribly if I shadowed you?” Sehun says, and he clings to Taeil’s shoulder. “I’ll help with whatever you need.” 

“Supposing I need help at all,” Taeil scoffs. 

But he doesn’t say no, so Sehun follows behind him to the grand library, staring again in wonder at the hundreds, thousands of books that live in the cases. Some are stacked perfectly, neatly and with care, and others are recklessly laid, close to falling off the shelves. A group of Golds seated around a table rise and bow at Taeil as he enters. Sehun likes it, seeing him with a bit of authority. It suits him. 

“Continuing our work from yesterday,” he says. “The western corner needs the most work.” 

They nod, springing into action, and Taeil shoots a glance at Sehun. 

“Well?” 

Sehun follows after them, not wanting to fall behind.  
  


♔

It is tough work, and it does not surprise Sehun that Taeil undersold its difficulty. It is not as physically challenging as some of their previous tasks, but it is menial at times and mind-numbing at others. He feels a tremendous sense of relief as the high noon bell tolls, and an even greater sense of relief as they eat. Taeil looks at him carefully, and Sehun pretends not to notice, both of them skirting around it. For now, Sehun doesn’t mind. If he’s allowed to skirt anything, anyone, he would prefer it be Taeil. Taeil has a way of getting to the heart of things.

Anxiety threads its way through him as they approach the council room, and Taeil nudges him forward as they stand in front of the closed door. 

“Go on,” he says. “It won’t get any easier if you avoid it.” 

Sehun frowns, but he opens the door anyway, because Taeil is right. 

When he steps through the threshold, the rest of the council is already there, seated, and Baekhyun sits up a bit straighter in his seat, hands folded across the table in front of him.

"Welcome," he says with a timid smile. "Please, take a seat."

There are two open seats, one next to Joongi and one next to Baekhyun, and Taeil is quick to steal the one next to Joongi, shooting Sehun a wry smile as he settles. Sehun huffs out a breath, and he sits next to Baekhyun.

"Good afternoon," he says, addressing them all. "I'm happy to be back with you all."

"And we're happy to have you," Joongi says. “I suppose we should spend a bit of time catching you up,” and he shuffles through pieces of parchment, and Taeil starts flipping through the leather-bound book in front of him. “Taeil, if you—” 

“Yes,” Taeil says, and he arrives at a page, his finger pointing to the scrawled words, his fingernail scratching across the parchment as he reads. "For the past sennight, we've been in correspondence with Yixing."

"Oh," Sehun says, and he leans forward with a smile. "What was the correspondence in reference to?"

"There has been a concerted effort on the behalf of our council to reveal the kingdom of Gochidana to all," Taeil says. "And we have been making great strides, thanks to—," and he looks between Sehun and Baekhyun, "thanks to the king."

Sehun looks over at Baekhyun who ducks his head.

"Well, that's very interesting," Sehun says. "And the purpose of revealing the kingdom?"

Taeil looks to Joongi, who unfolds his hands.

"You know the power of the forest firsthand, do you not?" Joongi says, and when Sehun nods, he smiles. "It is our hope that, in the revelation, Yixing's power will grow."

Sehun is confused, cocking an eyebrow. "Is there any reasoning behind such beliefs?"

Baekhyun clears his throat just a touch, and Sehun looks to him, nods as if to say _go ahead_.

"The power of the forest and his healing magic are well connected," Baekhyun says. "All of our powers are rooted in the natural, in the earth herself. The magic that he used to seal away Gochidana so long ago… I fear it has drained him of much of his energy over time."

Sehun thinks back, the weary look in his eyes. He could heal so many, but could never heal himself of the tiredness that bled through everything he did, everything he said.

"And so bringing down the barrier will… will _reinvigorate_ his magic, is that correct?" Sehun asks.

"It is our hope," Joongi answers.

Sehun looks between them, between Baekhyun and Joongi, and he nods, a small smile across his face.

"Well, that's a very… a very noble thing," Sehun says. "But surely, if Yixing wanted the wall to come down, he could bring it down on his own without your help, isn't that right?"

"Yes," Joongi says, "and no."

Hyunwoo snorts, and Sehun doesn't blame him. Taeil unfolds a map, points at the far northwestern corner of the world.

"The creation of the barrier was made through Hartcaster," Taeil says. "The two forests are linked, either side of the same coin. The magic lives, breathes through both of them. And in order to destroy the barrier, he must destroy Hartcaster entirely."

He imagines the forests falling away to ash, nothing left but sallow soil.

"Surely, there is another way," Sehun says.

"It is Yixing's belief that Hartcaster might be brought back to life after its destruction," Baekhyun interjects. "As long as one forest lives, the other can heal."

"Oh," Sehun says. "Well… well, then it's quite simple, isn't it?"

"The only problem is the people," Joongi says. "They are not well. They cannot move on their own. They will need aid of the Leaper King."

It seems poetic, and Sehun smiles at the thought. Yixing once gave Jongin shelter. And now, Jongin gives his people a home.

"However I can be of service to you, of course," Sehun offers.

"You are good friends with Jongin, are you not?"

Sehun nods.

"If you could ask him to repay the favor that Yixing once did him," Joongi smiles. "Could that be your goal?"

"Of course," Sehun says. "I'll draft a letter this very evening." 

"Excellent." He shuffles his pages. "Now, if it pleases you all, we'll move on to a different subject. On the matter of the Day of the Tabled…"  
  


♔

The meeting is interesting, and Sehun is attentive the whole time, but when the sixth bell is rung, they all filter out. Sehun stays seated, even when Taeil looks at him, and Baekhyun stays seated as the room empties. When it is just he and Baekhyun at the council table, the door shut, and there is… there is much to discuss, but Sehun doesn’t know where to begin.

“Is it finally time?” Baekhyun asks. “For us to stop playing pretend?” 

“I suppose,” Sehun says. “You know what I’m here for.” 

“I do.” Baekhyun gestures to Sehun’s chest. “You want to unlock your power. I can feel it. You still haven’t gotten to where you want to be.” 

“No,” Sehun says. “I need you.” 

Immediately, Baekhyun’s eyes go wide, a delighted, teasing smile on his face. 

“Y-You know that’s not what I meant,” Sehun stutters. “You know it well.” 

“Of course,” Baekhyun says, and he stands, rounds the corner of the table, brushes the back of his hand against Sehun’s cheek before he folds his hand over delicately, cupping Sehun’s cheek. “You care not for me. You want to complete the mission.” 

“Yes.” He closes his eyes, resists the urge to sigh, to lay his face in Baekhyun’s open hand, to kiss the center of his palm. “Yes, and that is all.” 

“Is it?” 

The words make Sehun open his eyes once more, and he stares into Baekhyun’s eyes, rich beyond words. 

“Yes,” Sehun lies. 

Baekhyun smiles.

“Liar.” 

Sehun wrenches away, stands back from the table, and he crosses to the door quickly. He is fast, but Baekhyun is faster, a hand on the door. 

“Don’t run away,” Baekhyun says. “Once, you told me not to run. Now, I tell you the same. Don’t run.” 

“I’m not running,” Sehun says. “I’ll be here in the morning. We can discuss more then.” 

“Will the truth of the matter change with the setting and rising of the sun?” Baekhyun tilts his head. “We must face it head on.” 

Sehun turns. 

“Fine. I have been brought here by the cruel hand of fate. I must forgive you in order to access my true potential. And destiny is the only reason I have returned to you. I do not desire to be with you. No part of me wishes to be back here.” 

Baekhyun studies him for a moment, and there are pieces of him that fall away, some residual pride, some leftover ego. It sloughs off of him like dead skin, leaves only need. Something raw, like fresh skin. 

“It’s not _destiny_ ,” Baekhyun says. “We weren’t _destined_ to be together. We just love each other. And though I have done harm to you, it is my deepest desire to right my wrongs. To fix what I’ve done so that we might—” 

“I don’t.” 

Baekhyun furrows his brow, the words stolen from his lips. 

“Don’t what?” 

“Don’t _love_ you,” Sehun says. 

Sehun crosses his arms, and Baekhyun folds his own across his chest in response. They stare at each other for a moment, neither of them willing to break the silence until, of course, Baekhyun breaks the silence. 

“Well, don’t you look exactly like the stubborn little bitch you are,” Baekhyun says. 

For a moment, it feels like they are back where they began, some playful push and pull that Sehun cherished so much. But no. Not again. He won’t be drawn back in. 

“Isn’t that rich?” Sehun says, and he folds his arms tighter. “You, the stubbornest of them all.” 

“I’m not stubborn. I just want what I want. And under normal circumstances, I get what I want.” 

“Oh? And what exactly is it that you want?” 

Baekhyun steps forward, close enough that their arms brush. Baekhyun doesn’t back away, though, only moves closer, his skin resting against Sehun’s. 

“You know what I want,” he says, and his lips are red, sweet as strawberries. 

“You cannot have me,” Sehun says. “Does that make you angry?” 

Baekhyun inhales, and for a moment, it is a vivid memory that flits through Sehun’s head: _the stuttered way Baekhyun drew breath when Sehun’s finger slipped inside him._

“No,” Baekhyun says. “It does not. I know that I did not deserve you, because I lied to you. I knew that the reckoning would come. And it came for me. I… whether or not you believe it to be true, I love you. And love means that—that I respect you.” 

“You did not respect me enough to tell me the truth.” 

Baekhyun shuts his eyes, and he steps back. 

“You’re wrong,” he says, and he unfolds his arms. “It was not out of disrespect. It was fear. A childish, stupid fear. And it is shameful. Reprehensible. I will earn your forgiveness someday for it, for all the transgressions. But I respect you. You’ve had my respect since the moment I saw your heart for what it was.” 

“And when was that?” Sehun asks, and his arms fall from his chest. “When did you see my heart?” 

Baekhyun smiles, bright. Ever-beautiful. 

“When you offered me an apricot,” Baekhyun says, and he looks up, bites his lip as he smiles. “I thought to myself, _There is no way that this story ends where I do not fall deeply in love with him_. And for a while, I tried to stop myself. Tried to… to soften the way you made me feel. I thought myself too old, too hard-hearted. But you made me remember what it was like to be good. To be kind.” He lowers his head, reaches forward, and he takes Sehun’s hand in a tenuous hold. “I will always respect you for this. And you will always have my undying gratitude. I spoke truly: you will always be my Favored.” 

He rubs his thumb over the back of Sehun’s hand, and Sehun wants to pull away. 

Instead, he laces his fingers through Baekhyun’s for a moment. It is a calm moment, the first moment since his return that he feels truly at peace. _I forgive you_ , he wants to say. 

But he does not act on want any longer. 

“We will never be together again,” Sehun warns him, and he withdraws, steps back. “You musn’t dream of it unless you desire disappointment.” 

Baekhyun looks him over, head to toe, before he nods solemnly. 

“I understand,” Baekhyun says. And he bows lowly to Sehun, so low that when his hair parts, falls on either side of his shoulders, Sehun can see the back of his neck. The spot Sehun used to press kisses to. Baekhyun is slow to rise again, and Sehun looks away when he sees the sheer love in his eyes. It’s too much, too precious, too special. “I hope that… that at the very least, we can learn to become friends.” 

Sehun’s throat goes tight, and he nods. 

“That is most pleasing to me,” Baekhyun says. 

Sehun looks into his eyes, and… Sehun thought that it would go much more roughly, not at all smoothly. That it would be a much rockier climb to where they are now. 

“Shall we walk?” Baekhyun asks. 

“What?” 

“Tomorrow,” Baekhyun says. “Shall we walk?” 

“Walk where?” 

“Wherever you’d like to go, silly boy." He smiles charmingly, nudging his hand against Sehun’s. “If we are to be friends, then we must learn about each other from the start.” 

How is he so good at forgetting? Sehun wonders if it’s all pretend. No. Baekhyun was good at lying, but this… such genuine emotion. It is impossible to fake. Was it simply that he’d prepared himself for such an eventuality? Learned to accept whatever he could get so long as it meant Sehun was in his life again? 

Sehun’s stomach pulls, a tug of affection, and he lets himself smile. 

“From the start,” he agrees.  
  


♔

In the morning, Sehun walks with Baekhyun through the capital, and for a while, it is quiet. Stilted. Sehun doesn’t know what to say, still clinging to his anger, to his upset, to his hurt feelings, and Baekhyun doesn’t make him speak. They simply walk, move forward, and the people do not pay them much mind. Sehun is grateful, and he tries to clear his mind as they go.

The city is waking, the sun climbing through the pale blue sky, and Sehun watches the clouds move. 

“Was the brunt of the winter harsh?” he asks. 

“No,” Baekhyun smiles. “No, it was very mild.” 

“Ah,” Sehun says. “A blessing.” 

“To be sure.” 

They walk along the winding paved streets, see the common folks setting up their carts along the way, the shutters to the windows thrown open wide. People hang their laundry to dry, chase their children to the schoolhouse, kiss their spouses before work. Sehun looks away, looks to his feet. 

“I’m sorry, I just…,” he mutters, trying to find the words. “I just don’t know what to say to you.” 

Baekhyun nudges his hand, and Sehun looks up, sees something strange, something furtive but beautiful in Baekhyun’s eyes. 

“You don’t have to say anything at all,” he offers. “We can just walk.” 

Then, Sehun realizes what it was, realizes what was missing all along. Kindness. 

“Okay,” Sehun says, and as they stroll, they share silence, keep it caught between the two of them.  
  


♔

From then on, he establishes a routine, one that finds him staying in the Gold dormitories, a bed moved in just for him. Daily, he aids Taeil with the bookkeeping, and daily, they attend their council meetings, and daily, he and Baekhyun take a stroll through the city. For the first sennight, they speak little, and Baekhyun does not seem inclined to push Sehun at all. They talk about trivial things, the end of winter, the approach of the spring. Sehun does not mind it, especially not at first.

It gives him the chance to acclimate himself. He is here for a purpose, and Joongi was right. There was something malicious about his intent, and that malice serves no one any good, not even himself. And though it sometimes felt good, felt _right_ , it’s never been who he is. He is here to forgive, and he will. With time. 

At times, he is still frustrated, still upset, but he finds that the more he speaks with Baekhyun, the less he feels frustrated, upset. There is something different about him, the underlying hurt buried deep beneath the loam now. Is it possible that he’s learned to move past the things that hardened his heart all those many years ago? That he’s finally let himself heal? 

“It was so beautiful,” Baekhyun says animatedly, lapsing into a tone that reminds Sehun of a child, all eagerness, all zeal. “You have to see it someday. Perhaps once it has grown back to its former glory.”

Sehun imagines it, the deep dense forest, the giant water lilies at the heart of the forest. He would like to see it. Very much so. 

“Was that where you grew up?” Sehun asks. “Hartcaster?” 

“We were all born there.” He smiles in reverie. “Mother told us we were born from the soil.” Sehun makes a face, and Baekhyun takes note, scuffing his sandal along the dusty street, kicking it to Sehun. “Well, the normal way is just as repellent, if not more so, I’ll have you know that.” 

Sehun laughs, enjoying the way Baekhyun shares in it. 

“Will you be sad to see it fall?” Sehun asks. 

“Yes,” Baekhyun says, and he smiles, aims it at the street. And the lights, they die around them, leaving the city dark with the colors of sunset. “It will be a great tragedy to see it go. But as you well know, sometimes it is necessary to rid the world of old to build something new.” 

Sehun takes the words to heart as they walk, and when Baekhyun’s shoulder touches his own when they come to rest on the steps of the palace, overlooking the city, Sehun does not move away from the connection.  
  


♔

They spend a great deal of time together when there isn’t work to be done, and it reminds Sehun of when things were better between them. An easiness develops, slowly but surely, and Sehun finds his heart softening. Baekhyun asks what he’d like to do, and Sehun’s answer is immediate.

They walk to the stables, and Baekhyun folds his hands behind his back, smiling up at Sehun. 

“You’re so predictable,” Baekhyun says, smarmy, and Sehun is quick to shove his shoulder into Baekhyun’s, sending him off balance, staggering through the sands. “Well, _that_ was unnecessary!” 

“If I’m so predictable, then shouldn’t you have seen it coming?” Sehun asks. 

“Damn.” Baekhyun scuffs his boot through the sand. “I hate it when you’re funny.” 

Sehun smiles as they come upon the stables, unlatching the massive doors. The daymares are unlike anything else in the world, majestic beyond compare, and he looks back at Baekhyun with a grin as he follows him in. 

“What’s it like?” Baekhyun asks. “To fly?” 

“You know,” Sehun says, gesturing to the mares. “You’ve flown.” 

“I meant on your _own_.” 

Baekhyun turns back to the horses, and Sehun watches him stroke his hand along the black coat, soft like velvet. Gentle. A taming hand. 

“You’ve flown,” Sehun says. “Back… back before.” 

“Ah. You must know that that was always because of you,” Baekhyun says with a secret little smile, hiding it away with a bow. “Something about the way we… the way we loved each other. Your power always found its way to me. My apologies.” 

Sehun finds a flare of… of _something_ in his stomach, but he swallows over it. These things are unimportant. Nothing holds import if love doesn’t, if forgiveness and kindness doesn’t. 

“There is no need to apologize,” Sehun says, and he almost bites back what he wants to say, but he figures, if not now, then when? “When I… when I feel my power, it feels like light inside me.” 

Baekhyun looks back sharply, and his eyes are bright gold, hopeful. 

“Does it?” 

“Yes. It does.” 

“Oh,” Baekhyun says, and he bites a little smile. “That’s… that’s very nice.” 

“I miss it,” Sehun stammers, unable to keep the words from pouring from his mouth. “I miss the feeling sometimes. I don't always feel the light, of course. And when it's gone, I do miss it.”

Baekhyun turns from Sehun, a hand brushing across the nose of the mare. She closes her eyes, long lashes batting down. 

“And I… the winds,” he says softly, looking back with a smile before petting the horse again. “Perhaps, when my forgiveness is earned…” 

“Yes,” Sehun says. “Perhaps.” 

“You know, I… never mind it all,” Baekhyun says, and he brushes a hand along his face before tying his hair back, high. Cute. “You miss the air, do you not?” 

“I do.” 

“Then let us graze our fingers along the clouds,” he smiles. 

The wind courses through him when they take flight on horseback, dipping and diving, and at least for a while, it is easy to forget all the rest. When they land once more though, the wind sweeping the ponytail of Baekhyun’s hair messy, his cheeks red, Sehun finds his heart lightened, the weight lessening every day.  
  


♔

The world does not stop for them, for his personal missions of forgiveness. Sehun still has duties in the capital, still feels he owes it to them to work hard, considering he is staying at no charge to him. So he works. Works hard, especially under Taeil who is far more domineering to Sehun than Sehun would have given him credit for. He occasionally raps Sehun across the knuckles with a pen for daydreaming when he should be working, but Sehun doesn't mind too much. He deserves it.

Taeil is busy sifting through letters, correspondences, and it's much more difficult to catalog those than it is the rest of the tomes, and Sehun should be giving it his full attention.

"I know that look," Taeil says. "And I don't want to hear about your burgeoning love, about how you've found yourself once more."

"I wasn't going to say that," Sehun frowns. "Only that I think we've finally found good friendship."

"Friendship?" He snorts. "Is that what they call it?"

Sehun furrows his brow, reaches out to smack Taeil across the arm, and Taeil's pleasant laugh rings out through the library.

"You've been spending quite a bit of time together recently," Taeil notes. "So I suppose your forgiveness is just around the corner then?"

"I don't know for sure," Sehun says. "It's hard to know such a thing."

He looks inside himself, the chains falling away, and he feels the bright roaring light pulse, shake whenever he thinks of Baekhyun, whenever they are together. It is not hard to know. He just isn't sure that he's ready to let go.

"You will find forgiveness for him when it is time. Now come," he orders. "You didn't even notice the bell. It's past the twelfth. We'll be due in the council chambers in a while."

Sehun follows Taeil through the routine, through the palace, through the galley, and he eats, barely even tastes his food as he thinks of what happens when this is all over. What happens when he finds his power for good.

He does not let himself dwell on it any longer. He will deal with the consequences when he needs to, and he will not busy himself with them when they are just possibilities.

He sits next to Baekhyun at the meeting, their hands resting very close together as the rest of the members of the council file in.

"Are you well?" Baekhyun asks with a tilt of his head. "Did you have a good morning?"

"Yes," Sehun says, and he gingerly brushes the hair from his eyes as he looks at Baekhyun, looks at his smile. "It was very pleasant."

"That's very good," Baekhyun smiles.

"And you? Was your morning pleasant?"

"Very pleasant," Baekhyun says. "You should see the orphanage now. The reconstruction has done wonders for it. The children… I think they would like it very much if you were to visit with me sometime."

"Yes," Sehun answers. "Yes, of course."

"Good."

"Good," Sehun smiles.

"Enough twittering," Joongi laughs. "We've finally received word back concerning our diplomatic visits from the noble kings of Esdare and the Mount. I assume that takes precedence over...?"

"Yes, yes," Baekhyun says with a wave of his hand. "Surely. Tell us of the diplomatic visits."

"With pleasure," Joongi says, a bow of his head.

Sehun listens dutifully to the words Joongi says, to the plans that he, Hyunwoo, and Hoseok lay, but under the table, he kicks Baekhyun’s foot, only to get a swift kick back. He has to bite his lip to quiet the yowl of pain, and when he looks over at Baekhyun, he is shaking with laughter.  
  


♔

In the winter, it is customary to visit the baths, and Sehun goes with Taeil, arm in arm, unsure at first. What good could possibly come of such a thing? He isn't stupid. He isn't pretending like he isn't still deeply attracted to Baekhyun. But still… still, it would simply be unwise to indulge in that again. Besides, he _told_ Baekhyun it would never happen again.

And it is rare for him to go back on his word.

"You worry too much," Taeil says. "What, do you think he'll jump you at a public bathhouse?"

"N-Not… not him," Sehun mutters.

Taeil stops them in the middle of the street, the fire light of the city at night painting his hair auburn prettily.

"You?"

"Perhaps," Sehun says.

Taeil looks him up and down before he pulls Sehun off towards the bathhouse once more, giggling fiercely as they go.

"It isn't funny," Sehun mutters. "I've no idea how to control myself."

"Now you've been so repressed that I fear you might fall in love with a goat if it looked at you sweetly." Sehun swats him, sends him into another fit of laughter. "You make everything a greater deal than what it needs to be. So you feel an attraction towards him… of course you do. You fell into bed with him the first time, didn't you?"

"Don't say it so plainly."

"It's only natural," Taeil says. "It's your decision what to do with it."

Sehun drapes himself over Taeil, lets Taeil shoulder his weight on the way to the baths, and when they arrive, he is slow in stripping himself of his robes, stepping into the warmed waters. It smells like lavender and peace, and Sehun closes his eyes, lets Taeil settle at his side.

It is a relaxing soak, and Sehun almost forgets that they're so public, that everyone in the city is at the baths on this night, and within the hour, Taeil jolts at his side.

"He approaches," Taeil warns, and then, Sehun makes eye contact with him, slowly walking over towards the pair of them. "Shall I go?"

But Taeil does not even give him a chance to answer, simply bows when Baekhyun arrives, taking his leave, swimming over to some Golds that Sehun knows from the dorms.

"Well met," Baekhyun says, and he pushes hair from his face. "Do you find the baths to your liking? Or would you say you prefer those of Thunder's Shadow?"

He smiles at Sehun, the detail sticking in his head, and Sehun likes that, likes the way it feels.

Baekhyun doesn't seem to notice the way he looks, dripping with water, his hair unplaited, messy and wet down his back. His collarbones are not nearly as sharp as Sehun once remembered them to be, and he takes a moment to study the differences between Baekhyun of the now and Baekhyun of the past. He is much softer, now, rounder cheeks and more supple skin, and Sehun wonders how it would feel beneath his hands.

"I liked them both very much," Sehun says. "But I might prefer the company here."

"Oh?" Baekhyun says, and he slides up alongside Sehun, their bare shoulders brushing. "Wouldn't have anything to do with me, would it?"

It is entirely friendly, nothing underlying it, and Baekhyun even shoves his shoulder into Sehun's companionably, but a flood of warmth rushes into Sehun's stomach at the touch, at the thought. Is he so easy?

"With you," Sehun says. "With Taeil. With Joongi."

"We are blessed to have you here," Baekhyun says. "Again, you must take my thanks for giving me a second chance at this. I would never forgive myself if I wasn't able to right my wrongs against you."

Sehun watches the droplets of water slide slickly down Baekhyun's throat, and he smiles tightly, shaking away the thoughts of them. Forgiveness, he thinks. Peace, he thinks.

Love, he thinks. Always, always love.  
  


♔

They visit the orphanage nearly every day, and Sehun enjoys that the most. Seeing Baekhyun speak to the children, lowering himself to his knees just to be on their level, it tugs at Sehun's heartstrings. And it's then that he decides that no manipulation could make Sehun see what isn't there; Baekhyun is simply a kind person, all the roughness of time stripped away from him, all of his meanness and harshness forgotten, unlearned. Baekhyun plays with the children in the courtyard, the small fountain erupting, and the kids laugh riotously as Baekhyun turns the water to steam midair, vapor before it could even hit the ground.

"Go on," Baekhyun says. "Show them what you can do."

His power grows stronger with every day, but even still, it is hard to get a handle on it. He does not trust himself to use it on the children, so instead, he merely sets himself to a hover, spinning in a dramatic circle as they gasp and cheer. It is easy to entertain them, and when he settles back to the ground, they surround him, asking him about what else he can do.

He answers their questions as best he can, only pausing to look at Baekhyun, to see the fondness so blatant in his eyes.

Sehun confesses that he has missed being looked at with such affection, and he warms under it, can't focus on anything besides, even when they leave the orphanage for the day and he starts wandering back to the palace. Baekhyun sticks out his arm, grabs Sehun by the wrist. He pulls Sehun toward him, and suddenly they are exceptionally close, chests nearly touching, and with even the smallest draw of breath, they will brush.

Sehun holds his breath before he speaks.

"Y-Yes?"

"Did you forget?" Baekhyun asks. "We're to go to the orchard today. Very important business. Only fit for a king."

Baekhyun puffs his chest out, and Sehun pokes a finger to it, deflates it.

"Well, even if they want us out of their hair," Baekhyun says, flipping his braid over his shoulder, "it will be great fun. I do love the orchards, and you will too! You'll see."

Sehun rolls his eyes, but they get to fly, so altogether, he supposes the day could be much worse.

It is a short journey to Caerlake, a pretty and rare lake town amid the desert that Sehun remembers hearing about during the festival. They make specialty fruit wines and liquors, and when they descend over the orchards, the smell is divine. Citrus and apples, pears and plums, it all reminds him of Mulvilla, of the fertile fields near Avonrose, and as the horses land among the trees, he is surrounded by beauty. Pure and natural.

The leaves of the trees are thick, shiny, and green, and the boughs hang low with fruit that needs to be picked before spring comes. Quickly, Baekhyun takes a nearby basket, and he hands one to Sehun as well.

"I knew you would like it here," Baekhyun says proudly. "You were always so fond of fruit, and it always reminded you so dearly of Junmyeon, didn't it? Of home?"

Sehun is touched, overwhelmed for a moment, but he eventually manages to stutter out his "Yes."

"Pick as much as you like," Baekhyun says. "Eat as much as you like. I'm due to speak to the owners in just a moment, we're ordering plenty for the spring feasts, but…"

"Stay with me," Sehun says. "Just for a while."

"A-Are you quite sure?"

"Yes."

Baekhyun smiles, hiding it under the shadow of a tree, and he reaches up, plucks a ripened pear from the branch, gently placing it into Sehun's basket.

"You have my thanks," Sehun says.

"You are welcome," Baekhyun says.  
  


♔

He wakes the next morning, and it is there.

He finds the light inside him. Golden and eternal. 

He pushes out of his bed, scrambles to find his robe. He shoves his feet into his sandals as he lifts from the ground, soaring through the dormitories, the winds following him, paper and sheets and robes scattering around him. The Golds awake, and they cheer when they see him, and he can barely get back to the ground when he realizes. Finally. Finally. 

A Gold rushes to the door, sets him free, and he flies through the winding corridors, the maze long memorized. He cannot stop the whirlwind that follows him, that propels him forward, and he tries desperately to settle back onto the ground, but each time he thinks _finally_ , the winds push him ever forward. 

When he gets to the door of Baekhyun’s chamber, he thumps his fist on the door once, twice, a third time. 

“Baekhyun!” he shouts, unable to keep the delighted laugh from escaping him. “Hurry!” 

He waits impatiently before the door opens, a sleepy, bleary-eyed Baekhyun going wide-eyed with surprise when he sees Sehun hanging onto the door frame. 

“Good morning,” Sehun laughs. “Might I come in?” 

Baekhyun laughs, throws the door open wide, and Sehun flies through it, sweeping through the room, all the spare parchment strewn across the room as the winds follow behind him. Baekhyun smiles as he watches Sehun, and he stands below him, staring up at him. 

“What’s the meaning of this, then?” Baekhyun asks, head tilted to the side. 

“I’ve forgiven you,” Sehun says. “You are… you are my friend, and I have forgiven you. Take my hand, won’t you?” 

Sehun sticks out his hand with a delighted smile on his face, and Baekhyun reaches up, perhaps out of instinct. 

“Take your— _Sehun_!” 

Without a second’s hesitation, Sehun lifts him from the floor, their hands clutching each other’s as he floats them up, as he guides them through the memory of the stained-glass window. Once they are outside, they watch the sun rise, staring out over the unending horizon, the endless sands of the forest of light. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Baekhyun says, and when Sehun looks to him, his eyes are fiery gold, and the feeling in Sehun’s chest roars. 

“Don’t let go, okay?” Sehun says, and he squeezes his hand around Baekhyun’s. 

“Sehun, _wai_ —” 

But Sehun does not listen, lets his power surge through his fucking veins as he flies them higher and higher, the wind crisp and cold. Baekhyun shouts, screams, but he laughs through it, his hand so tight around Sehun’s that he thinks Baekhyun might never let go. They swoop and soar through the skies, and he loses all track of time with Baekhyun, circling the castle as many times as his body will allow him to before he tires. 

He threads them back through the stained-glass window after an hour, maybe longer, and Baekhyun’s cheeks are red, his hair windswept, and his smile is bright white. His eyes water, and Sehun reaches up, brushes a tear away. 

“ _Thank you_ ,” Baekhyun says, and he bends his body in a bow, and he takes Sehun’s hands in his after he straightens. “You have truly found it now. Your true power.” 

It is the culmination of so much, the emotions all reaching their crest, and Sehun pulls Baekhyun to him, crushes him in a hug, so thankful for this, for the friendship they’ve found.  
  


♔

Sehun stays in the capital for a bit longer, and now, before they rest each evening, Baekhyun helps to teach him.

“You’re quite lucky, you know,” Baekhyun says. “I’m an excellent teacher.” 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Sehun says with a roll of his eyes. “Get on with the lesson.” 

The winds are raw, capable of such extreme damage, that Sehun realizes he needs to learn to control them better, to lock them back within the cage on occasion, to temper the sheer magnitude. Baekhyun is the obvious solution, though it takes work daily. They sit in his chambers, legs folded across his bed, and Baekhyun holds Sehun’s hands in his. 

“Close your eyes,” Baekhyun says. 

Sehun obeys, but he can’t help himself. 

“Jongdae did this same thing,” Sehun says. 

He feels Baekhyun’s palms heat against his, and he smiles. 

“You’re a very evil boy, you know that?” Sehun snorts. “Focus now. Let the power out slowly. Like you’re turning the handle to a door.” 

He takes the image in his mind, pours himself into it. He looks inside, feels the wind, and he slowly, slowly, _gently_ turns the handle. 

He starts to lift, and he holds it. 

“And now,” Baekhyun says calmly, “close the handle. Close the door. Slowly.” 

Sehun focuses again on the image, and before he knows it, he settles back to the plush of the bed beneath him, Baekhyun pulling him into an ecstatic hug. 

“Perfect!” he says, and he smiles proudly. “See, I told you I was an excellent teacher. I’m sure Jongdae didn’t succeed on his first try.” 

Sehun rolls his eyes again, takes Baekhyun’s hands back in his. 

“Let’s try once more,” Sehun says. “I want to make sure I’ve got it.” 

Baekhyun’s eyes slide shut on a smile. “Whatever you command.”  
  


♔

He keeps finding excuses to stay longer. _Taeil needs his help with the cataloging system. Joongi asked if he would write another letter to Jongin. The climate agrees with him._ He doesn’t need anything substantial. Baekhyun would let him stay forever if he wanted. But Sehun, once again, has no idea what he truly wants. His power found, his mission complete, and yet… and yet he does not leave.

A month passes him by, and it all feels so typical. He works with Taeil when he's needed, he eats, he attends the council meetings, he tests his powers against Baekhyun's in the evening, pointing the wind at him, unleashing it in small bursts. He learns how to put barriers of wind between things, and Baekhyun looks so proud of him that he can hardly stand it.

They ride sometimes, in the evenings, and Baekhyun always lets him lead, the sun setting around them as they venture out and back home again.

"Do you think you'll stay a little longer?" Baekhyun asks.

"Yes, I think I will," Sehun says. "Unless it is displeasing to you."

"No," and when Sehun looks over to him, he is smiling, the wind through his hair. "Not at all displeasing to me."

"Good."

"Yes, very good."

They ride in near silence, the patting of the horses' hooves against the sand the only sounds. They do not need to fill every corner with noise. They ride through the desert, the horses carrying them, and Sehun starts to wonder why he feels so comfortable staying.

Of course, he and Baekhyun are friends, good friends. They spend so much time together, but it never feels stifling or overwhelming. It feels good. Feels right. Baekhyun makes him laugh, makes him think, makes him… makes him want to be better.

When they reach the foot of the dunes, they turn back around, looking at the Bichwood in the distance. It looks small, and Sehun squints as he takes it all in, the lights going dark as they watch the city go to sleep. It is a strangely romantic moment, and Sehun swallows down desire as he looks at Baekhyun, who turns to look at Sehun at the same moment.

"Want to race?" Baekhyun asks, a mischievous little smile on his face.

Sehun smiles back, and he does not hesitate as he goads his horse to a gallop, leaving Baekhyun in the dusty sands behind him. He listens for the delighted laugh that comes soon after, and it does not take long for Baekhyun to catch up, pulling neck and neck with Sehun. It is a spirited race, one that finds him victorious at the end, hopping from his horse with a triumphant shout.

"I beat you," Sehun taunts.

"Yes, yes, you're a very good rider," Baekhyun smiles, and he puts an arm over his stomach as he bows. "Congratulations."

When he stands back up straight, his cheeks are red, and his smile is beautiful, and Sehun doesn't think, doesn't let himself think as he steps forward, a hand on Baekhyun's cheek.

He is about to close in, about to connect them once more, but Baekhyun quickly steps away with a soft, sad smile.

"It's past their bedtimes," he says, a hand on his horse's neck. "We should put them away."

"Y-Yes, yes, of course," Sehun says, and the moment is broken, lost to the night, but when he sleeps that evening, he sees Baekhyun in his dreams.  
  


♔

Sehun does not have time to think about it, not at first.

Minseok arrives for his visit as the winter begins to fade, and Sehun is momentarily shocked when he first sees him. He is ethereal beauty, dressed all in white, light blue, and lilac, a cape at his back, lace-up white boots at his feet. His eyes are so blue they almost appear iridescent, his hair light, his brow black. He is so striking that Sehun forgets his own name when he crosses to him, offering him a hand. 

“It is so nice to finally meet you,” Minseok says with a smile. “I owe you my thanks.” 

“My lord,” Sehun says, and he takes his hand gently, bows until his forehead meets it. 

When Sehun rises once more, the king of ice wears an even more charming smile, gummy and sweet. 

“No formalities between us,” he says, and he pulls Sehun into a tight hug, making Sehun curve his back to bend to the little god. “For we are brothers, aren’t we?” 

Sehun smiles, but then he takes note of the rather large man standing behind Minseok, dressed in a matching white outfit, this one more military in style, sporting deep blue epaulets with silver decorations across his broad shoulders. The man glares at Sehun with such ferocity that Sehun feels the winds react a bit before he’s able to quiet them. 

Sehun gently removes himself from the embrace, and Minseok looks at him questioningly before he turns, sees the man, and slaps him across the shoulder. 

“Enough of that,” Minseok scolds. He turns back to Sehun, the charming smile slid right back where it belongs. “Do not mind him. He is the most elite of my sworn guard.” 

“Can you not call him what he truly is?” Baekhyun pipes up. “Lover?” 

The guard’s face goes suddenly red, color flooding to his cheeks, but Minseok only laughs. 

“He much prefers his official title, but if you must be _crude_ about it,” Minseok says, directing it toward Baekhyun, “yes, he is my love. Step forward, snowflake.” 

The guard obeys the command somewhat begrudgingly, keeping his eyes low. He is handsome, Sehun observes. Hair on the longer side, strong features. Sehun can understand the attraction. 

“Sehun,” Minseok says, “this is Changmin.” 

He clicks the heels of his boots together and bows to Sehun, a little too formal for Sehun’s liking, but Sehun bows back, only spying a hint of a smile on the man’s face when he rises. 

“A pleasure to meet you,” he says, and his voice is rich, but he doesn't smile much, only steps right back behind Minseok when he’s finished his greeting. 

“Well,” Minseok says, clapping his hands together with a smile, “after we get settled, shall we eat?” 

Baekhyun smiles, drags Minseok back into another hug, and Sehun supposes that it has been quite a while since they’ve seen each other. And how long since they’ve been so friendly with each other? Sehun can’t even begin to imagine.  
  


♔

They hold feasts every night during Minseok’s visit, and Baekhyun takes Minseok everywhere, Sehun and Changmin in tow. They visit the temples, the square, all of the shops and curiosities, and Sehun follows dutifully next to Changmin, who studies them closely.

“The last we visited,” Changmin says, only the second time he’s spoken to Sehun, “he was much different.” 

He points to Baekhyun, who is seemingly delighted by the way Minseok shoots the water from the fountain into icicles, leaving them to shatter like glass along the sand-washed stone. 

“Yes, I suppose he must have been quite different.” 

They watch the two gods, of light and of ice. There is much joy now. Much peace. A happiness that has been earned. 

“Is that to do with you?” he asks, looking Sehun over from head to toe. 

“It might be.” 

Changmin gives Sehun a little smile. “Good. I like him much better now, when he’s happy.” 

Changmin walks away, goes to stand behind Minseok like the hulking guard he is, and Sehun can only stand there, trying to brush the smile away from his face with his fingers.  
  


♔

He and Minseok, they speak in the evenings, after the feasts. In his chambers, there is a table on the balcony, and they sit there in the night, and together, they make an icy wind of the night breezes.

Minseok brings a wine from Esdare that is made from a special sort of grapes. Sehun stares at the bottle curiously, holding it up to the light. There, it sparkles, but without the light, it looks exactly like water. Sehun feels as though a trick is being played upon him. 

"No tricks," Minseok says, a bit looser-lipped with the addition of alcohol to the evening, and Sehun finds he likes it quite a bit. Minseok is very funny, very sweet, and Sehun found an easy friend in him. He uncorks the bottle, fills their glasses. "You'll find it does not have the bitterness that most alcohol has. Do remember how much you drink, though. So many drink far too much of it because it is so sweet."

Sehun has experience with taking too much of a good thing, so he only sips at it, delighted by the flavor. 

"These grapes," Sehun says in awe, staring at the wine in his glass, "you must send the Bichwood some of them." 

Minseok throws his head back and laughs. They drink together, just a bit, but it is a happy way to end the evening. He catches Minseok staring, after a while, and Sehun shoots a little gust of wind at him from his hand. It ruffles through Minseok's hair, and he giggles. 

"What?" Sehun asks. "Am I so interesting?" 

"No, it's just that—well, I suppose I should thank you." 

Sehun rolls his eyes, looks out over a city falling to sleep. 

"Truly," Minseok says. "You did not know him before. And I am glad of it." 

"I knew a bit," Sehun says. 

"Perhaps," Minseok nods. "Perhaps it would have been much worse without you." 

"And I... perhaps I too may have been worse without him." 

He says it without thinking much, and once he realizes what he's said, he looks at Minseok. 

"Ah," he smiles cutely, "your secret is safe with me." 

_No_ , Sehun thinks. _I'm afraid everyone already knows._  
  


♔

Minseok leaves with promises of future diplomatic visits, with trade considerations, with all the many things they had in mind. He hugs Baekhyun close, arms wrapped around him tightly, and Sehun folds his hands behind his back, unsure if he will receive such affections. After all, it has not been so long since they’ve met.

But he needn’t worry. Minseok steps up to him with a smile on his face. He throws open his arms as if they’ve known each other their whole lives, and Sehun goes to him, a warmth he wouldn’t have expected from the Ice King. 

“Take care of him well, won’t you?” Minseok whispers. 

And Sehun means to tell him that he’ll be going soon, that he and Baekhyun are only friends, but he can’t find the words. 

“I will,” Sehun whispers back. 

Minseok pats him on the back with another gummy smile, and when Changmin and his guard follows him out of the palace, out of the kingdom, a chill that Sehun didn’t even realize was there leaves, a warmth to his exit unlike any other.  
  


♔

It hits Sehun that he's stayed much longer than intended when the spring feast arrives, the smell of the blooms in the air. The city looks more beautiful in the spring, the _world_ looks more beautiful in the spring, and when he and Taeil walk in the morning before they're due to their duties, they walk arm and arm through the northern garden, marveling at the way the flowers have matured.

"You should walk with him here," Taeil says. "There is no more romantic spot in the whole palace."

"If he does not want me…"

"Of course he wants you," Taeil scoffs. "That's plain for all to see."

"Then why would he reject me so?" Sehun asks. "Why, when I offered myself to him?"

Taeil pats Sehun on the hand, brings him over to the bench, and he sits them both down.

"I can't presume to know his mind. I only know what I see. And what I see is someone who worked exceptionally hard to be forgiven."

"And he _has_ been forgiven," Sehun says. "It's been… it's been a great while now."

"Perhaps he still does not feel himself worthy," Taeil shrugs.

Sehun tries to imagine it. Not worthy? _Baekhyun_ , of all people? It seems impossible to reconcile with his confidence, with what was once arrogance.

"Do you want to reunite with him?" Taeil asks. "Truly? After all that's transpired?"

Sehun considers his life without Baekhyun, without the light. He could be happy. He could be fulfilled. He knows he could be. But… does he want to be?

"Yes," Sehun says. "I want to be with him once more."

"Then you must only know that he wants the same."

He stares down at the paved stones, looks up to the blooming flowers, reds and whites and golds.

"How could I know such a thing?"

Taeil rolls his eyes, shoving his shoulder into Sehun's.

"Maybe a conversation, O Wise One," he offers. "I swear, you travel all around the world, and you get no smarter. Tell me, what's the purpose in that?"

Sehun smiles, tries to think of the words that he might use to ask Baekhyun such a question.

When he falls to sleep that night, his dreams swirl with thoughts of the light, with the breaking of day and the blooming of roses.  
  


♔

There is not much downtime between royal visits, and as soon as they’re recovered from Minseok’s, the preparations are made for Kyungsoo. Sehun loves the clean smell of the polish, loves the hurried running of the priests, watching Hyunwoo direct them all. He smiles and bows to Sehun, and Sehun bows back.

Sehun watches Baekhyun as the procession of the stone lords commences, studies his face. He is careful, a bit more stoic than normal, and Sehun wonders if that’s to do with the relationship between him and Kyungsoo. He worries for a moment, chews on his lip between his teeth when he gets his first glimpse at Kyungsoo. 

His hair is short, cropped close to his head, and his dressings are simple: a plain tan robe wrapped around white linen, simple brown boots. Even so, he is beautiful, with a strong black brow and eyes that sing songs.

He observes Baekhyun carefully when he steps toward him, looks him head to toe, and they both stay incredibly silent, watching each other. The moment is tense, frightful, and Sehun inhales sharply as Kyungsoo claps Baekhyun on the shoulder, stone-faced, before a smile breaks like day across him, and he buries Baekhyun in a hug. 

When he approaches Sehun, he is cordial, kind, and he offers him a handshake, a smile. Sehun likes him already.  
  


♔

It is a joyous time to be in the capital, the happy visits infectious to all. Sehun enjoys the mood, of course, but… he grows weary of feasts after a while, and Kyungsoo does as well, if his temperament at them is any indication.

“I’d much prefer to eat at a tavern somewhere,” he grimaces. 

“In that, we are alike,” Sehun says. “But you must admit that the food…” 

He stares down at his plate, large mushroom caps stuffed with cheese, caramelized bacon, and succulent smoked chicken, a mash of red and sweet potatoes, a salad of sweetgrass and tomatoes drizzled with honey vinaigrette. 

“Yes,” Kyungsoo says, “the food certainly is delicious. That much has been well established.” 

He sends a little smirk to Sehun, and they watch Baekhyun visit tables, speaking to soldiers and servants alike. It’s nice, to observe him like this. Sehun holds his wine in a hand, gazes over it as Baekhyun laughs, jokes, entertains—it takes a moment for Baekhyun to feel the eyes on him, but when he does, he looks over, smiles shyly at Sehun before turning back to his conversation.

The sound of Kyungsoo’s voice jars him from thought. 

“He looks at you very particularly,” Kyungsoo notes. “In a very specific way.” 

“Does he?” Sehun says, and he sips from his glass. “I hadn’t noticed.” 

Kyungsoo stays quiet, and when Sehun turns to look at him, he’s aiming a smile at Sehun. 

“You’re funny. Funny and stupid.” 

“Thank you,” Sehun says. 

“It wasn’t a compliment.” 

“I know it well.” 

Kyungsoo busies himself with his meal, and Sehun follows suit, and they watch as Baekhyun entertains the Stone Lords with his magic tricks, his charm, his dazzling appeal. When Baekhyun orders another toast, the wine held high in his hand, Kyungsoo laces his arm around Sehun’s, smiles at him

“Before the spring is through,” Kyungsoo says, “he will be yours once more.” 

“How do you know that?” 

“Drink,” he commands, and so Sehun drinks. 

His throat works, and when the glasses are set back to the table, Kyungsoo smirks at him. 

“You have not known him as long as the rest of us. We know when he is in love.” 

Sehun’s stomach warms, and he knows that it is not from the alcohol.  
  


♔

He walks with Kyungsoo around the palace grounds on his final day in the capital, and it is mostly a quiet walk. Sehun finds Kyungsoo’s presence has been calming, bringing serenity to a troubled heart. All he hears is the clicking of their heels along the stones, and when they come to the menagerie, Sehun whistles, the lark flying to his finger.

“Pretty. Sweet,” Kyungsoo comments, stroking a gentle fingertip along the head of the bird. “Much like you.” 

Sehun smiles, lets the bird fly. They watch as it soars through the air, and Sehun escorts Kyungsoo back to his room. Kyungsoo embraces him with more ardor than Sehun thought him capable of, and he whispers in Sehun’s ear. 

“We owe you all our thanks,” he murmurs. “You have done us a great service.” 

“I did not do much,” Sehun says, a hand on Kyungsoo’s back. “It was—” 

“You cannot temper it with words, so it is better not to even try.” 

Sehun shuts his eyes, takes the affection as it comes to him. When Kyungsoo pulls back, his dark eyes are sparkling, his smile, mesmerizing. 

“Don’t wait too long,” Kyungsoo says, and he pats Sehun’s cheek with a hand. “There is no reason to wait any longer.” 

He turns, leaving Sehun to ponder it. 

Kyungsoo goes, not with much pomp or circumstance, but he still commands an attention as he leaves the city a little more empty than what he found it. It is a great triumph, seeing the many kingdoms allied once more, and Sehun enjoys being close by to observe it all.  
  


♔

The fortnight after the visits have passed is quiet, and such quiet is good for reflection. They take walks together, the two of them, and it is pleasant. Very pleasant, indeed.

He takes Taeil’s advice eventually, at least, in part. They stroll through the northern gardens, and Sehun holds Baekhyun’s arm in his, Baekhyun’s hand gentle along Sehun’s bicep. It is a friendly affection, and the blooms of the rose bushes seem to echo it, the bloom of them. But Sehun knows what spring brings. New love. And he feels it in his chest. Feels it strung through his ribcage, wrapping up his heart with red rope. 

“It’s so pretty in the evenings,” Baekhyun comments. “No wonder you love this place so much.” 

Sehun can’t think of anything to say, just lets Baekhyun lead him, their feet knowing the way. 

Is it a mistake? Is it fate? He cannot know. The only thing he does know is that he loves Baekhyun, loves him, loves him, and cannot stop loving him.  
  


♔

It is only the next evening that he finds himself standing before Baekhyun’s chambers, hand poised to knock on the door, but when he does, there is no answer.

Is it a sign? Should he turn heel and leave? 

No. He’s come too far. Fallen too deeply. And everyone has pointed him towards this. Maybe they can see something that he and Baekhyun can’t. Maybe everyone knows how it ends. How they’re meant to be. 

He opens the door, shuts it quietly behind him, and the night winds whistle through the forgotten window. Sehun looks around at the darkness, but there is no form lying across the bed, only the door to the balcony ajar, as the first night that Sehun had returned. He smiles in recollection. The way things have changed…

He crosses the room, opens the door, and he passes through. Baekhyun turns to him slowly, eyes shining in the night. 

_It is what I want_ , he tells him silently. _Trust in me._

Sehun pauses, and the pause lasts for what feels like an eternity, a history passing between their gazes. Sehun makes a crucial mistake, one that he will surely pay for; he looks down at Baekhyun’s lips and gets lost in the color, in the plushness. Why is he holding back? Why, after so long, is he denying himself? 

“T-This is not required of you,” Baekhyun says, and Sehun catches the movement of his hands with his eyes, looks down at where Baekhyun is twisting his fingers. “You will always have a place to stay here, no matter the nature of our relationship.” 

Sehun steps forward, closing the distance, and he takes Baekhyun’s hands in his, shocking a breath out of him. What were his expectations? Did he have any at all? Maybe no expectations, maybe simply dreams. Wishes he hoped would come true. 

“What is the nature of our relationship?” Sehun asks. “What is the nature of us?” 

“I-I—” 

“A better question,” and he steps a bit closer, the barest hint space between them, “what do you desire the nature of us to be?” 

Baekhyun looks away, overwhelmed, and Sehun likes it, likes the blush that creeps up his neck, likes the way he bites his lip. 

“Sehun-ah…” 

“Haven’t you always wanted more?” Sehun asks. “Hasn’t that always been your deepest desire?” 

“I… If you mean to shame me, then I will take it,” Baekhyun says, but he can’t meet Sehun’s eyes, can’t look at him. “But I cannot let you step closer and closer to this. Sehun, I won’t let you.” 

Sehun smiles, looking at the way Baekhyun has turned from him, hiding himself away. He held himself back from this because he thought he should. Because he was clinging to anger, to resentment, to disappointment and shame, but he’s let it all go now, broken through the shell that kept him guarded. 

"Do you mean to stop me?" Sehun asks. 

He takes Baekhyun's hands, puts them on his hips. And the feeling is so familiar that Baekhyun immediately sinks into it, hands rounded around Sehun's hip bones. It reminds him of long nights from festival months, from holding each other amidst storms. Each and every moment feels so vivid, as if it happened only a moment before, all the seconds, minutes, hours of them colliding into one singular moment of ethereal light. How many times did they hold each other like this? How many times did they whisper their words of love and devotion? 

He wipes it all clean, wipes the past away as he cups the back of Baekhyun's neck with a hand. 

"If you wish to stop me, then you must only utter the word," Sehun says, and he leans in so close that he can feel Baekhyun's breath, so close that he can feel the shiver that runs through him. "Will you stop me?" 

Baekhyun does not answer, only lets his eyes slip shut. 

There is nothing to stop. Time does not yield to anyone, does not allow for pregnant pauses and moments that last eternities. They have been living in a lie, one that both he and Baekhyun created with their own hands. They could not stay away from each other. And it's nothing to do with fate, nothing to do with destiny. They cannot stay away from each other because they simply love each other too much. 

And in simplicity, there is much beauty. 

Sehun kisses Baekhyun sweetly, and he feels wind swirl along his fingerprints, in the arcs and whorls, and Baekhyun whines, fingertips tightening along Sehun's waist. 

"S-Stop," he says, and he pushes Sehun back, a hand at his chest. "Don't. You mustn't." 

"Why mustn't I?" 

"Sehun, I do not deserve this," Baekhyun says. "I… I know you have forgiven me, and I love you for it, but I have not earned this. I have not yet become the man worthy of this. Of you." 

Sehun crushes him into an embrace, traps Baekhyun's hand between their bodies, resting on Sehun's chest. 

"Have you lost all your fight?" he whispers. "All your vim and vigor?" 

"Quiet." But he buries his face into Sehun's chest, sighing. 

"I have yet to meet a person so intelligent," Sehun says. "So whip-smart. You are clever, cleverer than anyone else I've ever met. You have relearned compassion, relearned empathy. Things that had been stripped from you, you reclaimed them all. You have struggled, and in those struggles, you have become strong. I have—I have fallen deeply in love with you. With this person you are. Honest and true." 

Baekhyun shudders in Sehun's arms, and Sehun tightens the embrace, holds him together as he threatens to shake apart. 

"Do not say such sweet words." 

"All I have for you are sweet words," Sehun says. "And I fear that will be true forever." 

Baekhyun withdraws from Sehun slowly, and he stares into Sehun's eyes in wonder. 

"What life did I live prior to this one?" Baekhyun wonders. "What good must I have done to receive such a blessing?" 

"You have done much good here, in this life." And Sehun leans down, another chaste kiss to the center of Baekhyun's lips. "Whether you know it or not." 

"Sehun-ah, I—" 

"You," Sehun says, another kiss that feels like a promise, "you were the reason I learned. You were the reason I became who I am today. And I wouldn't change any of it. If I hadn't… if it hadn't happened exactly as it did, perhaps I would not have made it here. Perhaps things would have stayed unfixed and unchanged." Baekhyun intakes breath, sharp, cutting, and Sehun softens it, kisses him again, this time longer, with just a hint at the passion that lies beneath the surface of his skin. "There is no reason to wonder at such things. What matters is the here and now, what we want." 

"What do you want?" Baekhyun asks, and there is fear within him, shivering fear. As if Sehun could want anything but a life beside Baekhyun, Baekhyun's hand in his for an eternity. 

"I want you," Sehun says. "And that, if nothing else, has always been true." 

Baekhyun whimpers as he steps onto his tiptoes, kissing Sehun softly, his tongue slipping between Sehun's lips. Sehun moans, the many nights he's spent dreaming about this suddenly brought to the forefront of his mind. He stays very still, does not want to dissuade Baekhyun from continuing, but it is a beautiful kiss, a sweet and shy one. 

It feels like testing the sea for its temperature, and oh, the water is warm. Sehun cannot help himself, can't resist the call of the waves. He brings both hands to Baekhyun's neck, tilts him just so, and he slips his body into the depths. 

He kisses Baekhyun hard, desperately tries to put all his emotions into it. _Taste the love that we share? Isn't it sweet? Take another taste, another sip, my love, and let it fall down your throat._

"Will you give yourself to me?" Sehun asks, lips against Baekhyun's. "Will you let me have you once again, my love?"

Baekhyun's hand along Sehun's cheek is gentle, and Sehun turns into it, kisses his fingers when Baekhyun lets him.

"There is nothing to give," Baekhyun says, a smile upon his lips. "You have always had me. Always."

They have known each other in all forms. They have seen the best of each other, the worst too, and when it mixes, it yields something incomprehensible, something beyond words, something beyond the hands of fate. They _understand_ each other, know each other in the truest way, and still, they are here, wrapped up in the strings of the other. Still, their love is strong.

Baekhyun kisses Sehun passionately, and it feels like the wall of a wave crashing over him, the intimacy and love, and Sehun wants to bottle it, keep it for himself when Baekhyun isn't by his side. It would have been such a blessing in the Thunder Fields, in the harsh fire-sands. He has struggled, has fought, and now that he is back to where he belongs, he tries to fill himself as much as he can, store it in every inch of him.

They spend too long just kissing each other, a fervent and near-silent conversation, the sounds of their mouths, the sounds of their moans the only noise there under the stars. The heavens watch as they bring each other to nothing, build each other back into everything. It is a dance, a waltz, and they know the steps. But there is a pretty hesitation, one that they hold between them.

When the kiss ends, Baekhyun's chest rises and falls like a quickened sun, and his lips are blood-red, wet.

"You're so beautiful," Sehun says, and it feels like the words come out on their own. He brushes his hand through the ends of Baekhyun's hair, fingers playing at the braid through half of it. "Every part of you. Even the parts you hid away for so long."

"Sehun."

"I mean it truly." And he hugs Baekhyun close, arms around his waist as Baekhyun's circle Sehun's neck. He lays a kiss to Baekhyun's ear. "You must believe me by now."

Baekhyun nods softly, and Sehun hears a sob from him, feels Baekhyun press kisses to Sehun's neck just over the collar of his robe.

"I'm sorry," Baekhyun says. "I'm so sorry."

"No more," Sehun says. "I'll hear no more of it. You have been granted forgiveness, remember? There is no need for this."

Baekhyun pulls back, eyes wet, and as a tear falls down his cheek, Sehun is quick to wipe it away with a thumb.

"Sehun, I don't know that I can… that I can treat you as you deserve to be treated, my love." There is such fear in his eyes, such trepidation, and Sehun wishes he could get rid of it for good. "What if I hurt you again? What if I… what if I do something horrible? I've been so bad for so long, it's second nature to me now, and I—"

Sehun kisses him silent, and Baekhyun bunches his hands in the fabric of Sehun's robes. He doesn't know if Baekhyun is holding him close or pushing him away, or maybe a bit of both.

"We will hurt each other," Sehun says. "We will. It is inevitable. It is a fact of our humanity. We are doomed to it. There are parts in all of us, ugly parts that we wish others couldn't see." Baekhyun squeezes his eyes shut, more tears leaking from the corners, but Sehun does not let them get far before he dries them. "The sooner we accept it, the sooner we make good on our mistakes, the better."

"You would never hurt me." He opens his eyes, and there are tears wetting his eyelashes, the light of the moon turning his eyes to stars. "You could never do such a thing."

Sehun laughs lightly, hugs Baekhyun close before pressing a kiss to his hair.

"I already have," Sehun says. "I treated you unkindly when I first arrived."

"It was earned," Baekhyun mutters. "It still is earned."

"Not to me. And the person who has been wronged, they are the only one whose opinion matters."

"Do you truly hold no ill will for me?" He sniffs against Sehun's robe. " _Truly_?"

"Truly," Sehun says, and then with a laugh, "I worried for the kingdom every day that I was gone. Thought maybe you wouldn't leave your chambers, wouldn't rule. Would just wallow petulantly until I had returned."

"The thought crossed my mind," Baekhyun laughs.

"What made you change it?"

Baekhyun pulls back, and this time, he wipes his own tear track clean, stares up at Sehun with a smile.

"You, of course," he says. "I had ruined the best thing I ever had, and while your departure took some time to get used to, my goal after you had gone was to always… to always be a person that you would look upon fondly. A person who you believed was worthy of love."

Sehun makes a noise of distress as he tugs Baekhyun into a kiss. 

“You have always been worthy of love. Not for a single second have you been unworthy.” 

“Your love, the thought of you,” Baekhyun says, and he plays with the collar of Sehun’s robe. “You make me worthy of it.” 

They kiss under the stars and the moon, the night full of light and deep with possibility, and when Baekhyun pulls Sehun by the hand from the balcony and back into his chambers, Sehun follows, watches the broad of Baekhyun’s back as he moves. 

When the come together again, it is in the darkness of the room, the only light blooming between them. Sehun kisses Baekhyun under the cover of night, and by the time they come away, the candles have been lit, a casual wave of Baekhyun’s hand. 

The room trembles with orange light, and Baekhyun looks even more golden than usual, the flames dancing in his eyes. 

“Are you sure?” Baekhyun asks. 

“Do you think you could force me into anything now?” Sehun asks, and he strokes the tips of his fingers along the slope of Baekhyun’s neck. “Do you think you could fool me now? Do you believe I have done anything this last month besides dream about you, think of the ways that I want you, every piece of you?” 

Baekhyun whimpers as Sehun takes him in another kiss, and it tastes even sweeter than the last. 

“I made my choice long ago,” Sehun says. “I made it when I offered you my hand. Now, it is time to make yours.” 

Baekhyun smiles, and he kisses Sehun fiercely, all the fire and fury of his light behind it. 

“I made my choice the moment I saw you. And nothing could change my mind.” 

Sehun hungers deeply for him, for Baekhyun’s mind and his heart and his pretty, pretty body, and he takes all three then as best he can fit in his hands. Baekhyun is too much for one person to hold, too colossal, too sparkling, but Sehun doesn’t care. He will always pick him. He will always try. 

They lay themselves gently across the bed, Baekhyun on his back, Sehun crowding over top of him, and Sehun relishes in it, takes his time. They are clothed, but more naked than they have ever been, and he moans into Baekhyun’s mouth as they kiss, already so electrified, already so full of lust. 

Sehun kisses down Baekhyun's body, licks idly at his neck when Baekhyun arches. 

"Sehun, please," he begs, but Sehun goes slowly, almost painfully slow as he kisses, licks, and sucks at the hollow of Baekhyun's throat. 

His collarbones are so sharp that Sehun thinks it possible to cut himself along the bone. He takes his time as he tongues along the skin pulled taut, kisses small red marks to Baekhyun's body as he whines, whimpers for more. 

"Sehun-ah," Baekhyun moans, and Sehun looks down to where Baekhyun moves his hips in circles, searching for touch thoughtlessly as his arms hang around Sehun's neck. 

"Mm," Sehun says, and he runs his hand down Baekhyun's side as he stares, entranced by the movement. "I have hungered for you. Body, mind, and soul." 

It shocks a sound from Baekhyun's mouth, and Sehun surges up to kiss it, swallow it, and it settles like the hot fire of the sun into Sehun's stomach. He feels the golden light swelling in the center of his chest, and he struggles to hold it in, not to lift them both into the air, their bodies, the bed, the whole fucking palace uprooted from the earth. He could do it, he thinks, the passion and deep, emphatic love inside him strong enough to do anything. 

HIs hands go to Baekhyun's neck, and he lays his body over top of Baekhyun's, their arousal stuttering like a frantic melody. He moans into Baekhyun's mouth as he presses down, down, giving them both what they desire most. _We have connected so many times_ , he thinks, _but this, this is different. Nothing could compare to this. We are naked before each other, honest and true in the eyes of the other._

Baekhyun surprises him, and Sehun laughs as he's put onto his back, Baekhyun settling between his legs comfortably before sitting up, smirking down at Sehun's body. 

"There," he says, and his mouth is _red_ , red and well kissed, and it is exactly how Sehun wants him to be forever. Well loved. Cherished. "Now you've got to stay there." 

Sehun taunts him with a subtle raise of his brow before lifting Baekhyun swiftly, pulling a string of laughter from him. He kicks his heels as he hovers above Sehun's body just a touch, smiling, giggling. 

"Put me _down_ ," Baekhyun screams through a laugh, and _oh_ , Sehun thinks, _you must be careful what you wish for._

Baekhyun's body falls onto Sehun's, a huffing from both of them as they collide, and Baekhyun shivers through laughter before pushing up onto Sehun's chest, looking dead into his eyes. 

"You are the most annoying, most incomprehensible, most _infuriating_ man I've ever met in my entire life," Baekhyun says breathlessly. "And I would do anything for you." 

"I love you," Sehun says, and the truth feels so good, feels like silk and warm water. 

"I love you." And Baekhyun lays his head back down onto Sehun's chest, tracing a circle along Sehun's chest. "I love you more than I have ever loved anything. More than living itself. Because you are goodness. You are all that is good in the world. All of it, wrapped into one." 

"Hush now." 

"I won't," Baekhyun says. "I won't ever quiet. Not about you." 

Sehun strokes his fingers through Baekhyun's hair, pets his nails along Baekhyun's scalp, Baekhyun nuzzling into Sehun's chest. He pushes open the silk of his robe, starts to mouth absently at Sehun's pectoral. There is heat between them, a simmering heat, and Sehun closes his eyes, relishes in it. 

"I love you," Sehun whispers, and he tangles his fingers in Baekhyun's hair, gently tugging the the strand of his braid loose. "And I'm sorry." 

"No," Baekhyun says. "No more apology between us. We are finally here once more. Let us rejoice in it." 

_Yes_ , Sehun thinks, _rejoice._

Baekhyun moans as he puts a hand on Sehun's chest once more, pushing up to smile sleepily at Sehun. He leans up, kisses him sweetly, the sweep of his tongue electric. 

"Have I told you how much I love your hair?" Baekhyun asks, and he strokes along the end of Sehun's braid where the tie binds it. "It's so pretty like this." 

"You've told me." 

"Shall I tell you again?" He grins, cat-like. "In greater detail?" 

Sehun lets Baekhyun pull the braid out of his hair, throws the tie across the room. He runs a hand through along Sehun's scalp, shakes the waves out, and Sehun groans at the feeling. 

"When I was young, I had a dream about a prince," Baekhyun says, "a prince that would come to save me. Rescue me. Take me away from all the pain and the suffering. He looked just like you. Long dark hair, waved after being braided. Tall and thin, but _strong_. His voice…," and Baekhyun shuts his eyes as if he's remembering the dream vividly, "it sounded just as yours sounds." 

His eyes flicker open, and Sehun wonders if anyone has ever been more in love than he is in that moment. 

"Even when they took to calling me god, I prayed." Baekhyun takes Sehun's hand in his as he straddles Sehun's lap. He uncurls Sehun's fingertips, plants a chaste kiss to the center of Sehun's palm. "And I always prayed that you would become real. That I might find you someday." 

"I have always been within you," Sehun says. "Always."

"And you always will be," Baekhyun says. "Always."

Baekhyun leans, falls so that they're chest to chest as they kiss, and Sehun's hands come to Baekhyun's waist, urging him into a grind of their bodies that feels obscene. Did it always feel so good? His mind wanders to memories of them tangled in sheets, tangled in each other, and he groans, working his hips against Baekhyun, swallowing his sounds.

"Please," Baekhyun says, his lips against Sehun's cheek. "Please, I—"

"Did you dream of this as I had?"

"Sehun."

"I kept myself chaste," Sehun confesses. "Did not touch myself once. Did not let another soul touch me as you did."

"Then we are the same," Baekhyun gasps, planting kisses to Sehun's face. "I had no desire without you."

"Nor I without you." He parts the robe at Baekhyun's neck, kisses and sucks a mark to his throat. "And now all I can feel is desire. Every night, I dream of you. Every night, I think of taking you."

"Take me," Baekhyun moans. "Please, I—"

"Tell me that we shared the same dreams. Tell me that we lived in the same world together as we slept, a land of magic."

"Yes. I am sure that we did."

He kisses Sehun fiercely, and it feels like they are floating, hovering above the world. Baekhyun is slow in undressing himself, and Sehun doesn't help matters, constantly pulling him back down to touch him, to kiss him sweetly. It is a meandering pace, a luxurious one, and he breathes out heavily when Baekhyun finally pulls his braies off, nothing left to take away.

Sehun first touches with his eyes and then follows it with his hands, in disbelief that he gets to have this once more, the unspeakable, unfathomable joy he once had daily. Baekhyun tilts his head back with a moan when Sehun trails his hands down the side of Baekhyun's neck to his chest. He lets his fingers dance along the softness at Baekhyun's stomach.

"Don't," Baekhyun says, covering his face with a hand.

"Why not?"

"I have changed." A redness spreads from his face down to his chest, blushing all over, and Sehun sits up to kiss along it, hands still busy at Baekhyun's stomach. "Sehun, I'm—"

"You're what?" Sehun's hands move, circling Sehun's body. "Tell me what you are?"

"I'm a bit… stouter than before," he mutters.

"Mm," Sehun hums, hands skimming along Baekhyun's skin until he lands on the fullest part of Baekhyun's ass. "And it pleases me."

"S-Stop, don't tell falsehoods as you touch me so well."

"There are no falsehoods between us," and he guides Baekhyun back to where his arousal lays hard between his legs. "Not even one."

"Sehun-ah," Baekhyun groans, and he sits back, grinds himself into Sehun as Sehun touches him, hands spread wide across Baekhyun's ass. "Oh, I'm—"

"You're so beautiful," Sehun says. "The most beautiful thing in this world by far."

"No." He snaps his eyes down to Sehun, his hands along Sehun's jaw. "You. It has always been you. From the day you were born to the day you rest in the arms of this world, it has always been and shall always be you."

Sehun hugs him close, overwhelmed by this love that infects all that he does, all that he is. Baekhyun moves between Sehun’s spread legs, and they push against each other, smoothing the edges that time has sharpened. When Sehun takes the oil in his hand so that Baekhyun can prepare him, he hardly realizes that he hasn’t gotten up to fetch it. 

Baekhyun’s fingers pet along his hole, and he shivers at the feeling so unfamiliar now. 

“Relax, won’t you?” Baekhyun smiles, and he lowers himself down to kiss at the soft parts of Sehun’s inner thighs. Sehun is distracted by it, but the cleverness of his tongue as it moves, and Sehun stutters out a gasp when Baekhyun sinks a finger inside him. “There you go.” 

Sehun whines at the feeling, the sound pushing out of him unbidden, and Baekhyun does not move at all for a moment, letting Sehun acclimate to it. It does not take him long before he is working his hips down onto it, his cock still hard between his legs. It is lewd, profound in its profanity, and he cannot get enough. There is not enough to satiate his thirst. 

“M-More,” he gasps. “Please, more.” 

Baekhyun gives him exactly what he desires, a second finger slipping inside next to the first, and the stretch is so pleasurable that his toes curl, and he reaches down to stroke his hands through Baekhyun’s hair. 

Baekhyun continues to kiss and lick at Sehun’s thighs as he stretches him wide, rubbing inside him expertly, the flooding of heat across his stomach shameful and strangely satisfying. He struggles to keep the flood from rising, a strong wave of arousal coursing throughout his entire body, but he can't, moaning loudly as Baekhyun curls his fingers, bids him forward. 

"N-No more," Sehun says, and he struggles away from it as Baekhyun withdraws his fingers. "I'm so… you're much too good at that." 

"I'm exactly as good as I need to be," Baekhyun says with a grin, and he climbs back up over Sehun's body, strokes his hand around Sehun's cock and swallows the sounds that follow. "Was it good?" 

"Very." He kisses Baekhyun again, hands playing with his hair. "Too much so." 

"You mean to spend so early?" Baekhyun teases. 

"Only if you command it of me." 

"Then I will have you wait." Baekhyun licks along Sehun's lips, too delicious, too sweet. "I will have us come together." 

" _Yes_ ," Sehun answers, and it is a hiss between his teeth. He thrusts his hips up, grinds his cock against the plushness of Baekhyun's stomach, and he bites Baekhyun's lip, too desperate already. 

They kiss, kiss, kiss, and when Baekhyun finally sinks inside of Sehun's body, it is a homecoming heralded by an orchestra of trumpets and reeds, a choir singing into his ears. 

"I love you," Baekhyun whispers, his lips against the shell of Sehun's ear. "I love you so much." 

"Not half as much as I love you." 

Sehun lets his body compound his answer, circling his legs around Baekhyun's body, caging him in, locking him to his body with his ankles hooked across the small of his back. 

"Would you like to bet on it?" Baekhyun asks, and he licks along the lobe of Sehun's ear, a tiny thrust of his hips before whispering again. "You are all that I love in this beautiful world. You are all of it combined. And if our love must always be equal, then let it be so, because there is no way that you could ever love me _more >_ than I love you." 

Sehun whimpers, a pitiful sound. He is thrown by the words, thrown into how deeply he loves this man. They have gone through hell and worse to get to this place, and even the worst things in the world could not separate them from each other. 

When Baekhyun begins to thrust in earnest, Sehun tightens his arms around Baekhyun's neck, head thrown back as he moans. It is like nothing he has ever felt before even though he has had Baekhyun so many times. It is new, fresh, and he wishes to make it last an eternity. He squeezes his eyes shut, stars along the blackness, and he holds on, holds onto Baekhyun as his whole body is submerged into the simmering waters. 

Baekhyun holds him close, buries himself deeper and deeper inside Sehun's body, and the heat grows, grows, grows, Sehun groaning as Baekhyun changes the angle of his hips, decimates him with such a small movement. 

"F-Fuck," Baekhyun stutters, and his hips follow suit, losing the rhythm for a moment before he redoubles his efforts, pushing his hips in quick snaps, filling the room with the sounds of their skin, with the sounds of their pleasure. 

When they reach the rolling boil, all of it bubbling against their skin, Sehun instinctively reaches between their bodies, circles a hand around his cock and starts to pull. It drags noises from his chest that he wishes he could bite back, but it drives Baekhyun forward, his own sounds low and guttural. 

"Please," Sehun cries, and he digs his fingertips into the meat of Baekhyun's shoulders. "Please, I'm so close." 

"Wait for me," Baekhyun moans. "You must wait." 

Sehun throws his head back again, bares his throat, and Baekhyun licks along it, the temptation to spill over the edge even more enticing than just a moment before. He is wet, and the wet heat is dripping from every pore as he clings to the man he loves, as he begs him for release. 

"Wait," Baekhyun says, and he pulls Sehun into a frantic kiss as the speed of his hips builds, builds. "Wait for me." 

"Yes," Sehun says. "I'll wait." 

But it gets more and more impossible as the seconds tick on, as they move against each other with reckless abandon, as they step closer, closer, closer—

Sehun cries Baekhyun's name, unable to hold it back any longer, and when he comes, he is blinded by the most exquisite light. All he can see are the stars, all he can taste is the rain, and he moans as he comes undone, put back together once more when Baekhyun cries Sehun's name, spills into his body, clutching him tight as though he means to keep them together forever. 

_Please_ , Sehun thinks. _Always keep us together._  
  


♔

When he wakes, they are still wrapped in each other’s arms, and he stirs at the feeling of the wind through the stained glass window. There is light with it, and it mingles, a song, and Sehun blinks slowly, fingers caressing Baekhyun’s hair.

“Have you woken, lover?” Baekhyun asks, and he turns his head slightly, golden eyes sparkling in the sun, his hair soft on Sehun’s bare chest. He wears a smile and nothing besides, and Sehun trails his hand down Baekhyun’s back, stroking his fingers along Baekhyun’s spine. “Have you _risen_?” 

He peeks down underneath the sheets with a filthy grin, and Sehun rolls his eyes, crushing Baekhyun’s body to his in a hug. They settle into a silence, comfortable as it ever was, and they let it hang there, a wind chime in the breeze. 

“Did you sleep well?” Sehun asks quietly. 

“It was the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had,” Baekhyun answers, and he presses a kiss to Sehun’s pectoral. “Thanks to your presence.” 

Sehun hums, lets that be his agreement. The bed is soft, the sheets warm, but none of it would matter if it weren’t Baekhyun at his side. 

It is then, lying there in the hushed morning, that he realizes he has done what he sought to do. For the better part of a year, it has been his mission, and now… it is finished. 

“It’s strange.”

Baekhyun tilts his head again, lying across Sehun’s chest so that he can look him in the eye.

“What’s strange, my love?” 

“The feeling I have now,” Sehun says. He again pets his fingers through Baekhyun’s blond hair. “My journey is ended, and yet…” 

“And yet?” 

“Do you not feel as though our story is at an end?” Sehun asks, and he scratches his fingernails along Baekhyun’s scalp. “All our troubles solved? All our friendships mended? Isn’t there something sad about that?” 

Baekhyun hums, shuts his eyes, and the flutter of his eyelashes over his cheeks is so pretty that Sehun to lean down, kiss him softly. 

“Yes, our troubles are solved, and yes, our friendships are mended, but our story isn’t over,” Baekhyun says. “Stories never end, no so long as someone is still reading.”  
  


♔

They have never known true normalcy, but what they gravitate to, Sehun supposes that it is best known as _normal_.

The council meetings go on, often unremarkable, and while he relishes in the ability to rule with a more enthusiastic Baekhyun, something feels incorrect. He muddles through, finds himself warming to it as the days turn to sennights, and sennights turn to a month. The Bichwood thrives, just as it always has, and Sehun suspects that he has little to do with it, considering how little he contributes. The meetings go on around him, taxes and proposals and correspondences from faraway places, Esdare brought back into trade considerations due to Joongi's work after the royal visit. Sehun gets his grapes, but something... something ails him. 

"Are you well?" Baekhyun asks, a confused tilt of his head. "You seem ill."

"No, I'm not ill," Sehun says. "Just feel a bit… well, I'm not quite sure." 

Baekhyun searches his eyes like he attempts to understand, and he seemingly comes away with nothing.

"Would you like to take one of the horses?" he offers.

Sehun considers it for a moment, watching the rest of them gather papers, smile at each other, laugh.

"Yes," Sehun says suddenly. "Yes, perhaps the air will clear my head."

Baekhyun takes him to the stables, and they fly together, soaring through the clouds, and it is so strange, the way it leaves him feeling heavier than ever. When the daymare touches down once more, Sehun feeds her sugar before turning to Baekhyun, his windswept red cheeks too handsome not to kiss.

"Do you feel better then?" Baekhyun smiles brightly.

"Yes, a bit."  
  


♔

Some days are better, and some are worse.

Often, he feels well enough to carry out as many duties as possible, and Baekhyun looks upon him proudly. But on days where there are formal roles to be filled, he shirks away from it, body recoiling. Has it simply been too long since he wore the crown of Favored that now his body rejects it?

"Don't fret," Baekhyun says. "You don't have to wear it if you don't want."

They go to the temple together, hand in hand, and they give blessings, as many as they can. The sun sets on them, but the people keep coming, touching his hands fondly as he smiles down at them.  
  


♔

It goes on, and in the mornings, he does not eat well. It starts slowly, and day after day, it gets worse. He drinks tea as Baekhyun eats runny eggs, dipping the corners of his toast into them.

"You must get your appetite back, or I'll be forced to eat all your food for you so as not to waste it," Baekhyun says. "And I'm afraid there's only so many times they can let out a robe."

"Quiet," Sehun smiles. "I'm fine."

"You must eat!" He nudges a triangle of toast over towards Sehun. "Even just a bite?"

Sehun dutifully eats it as Baekhyun smiles, watching over him.

It is after, when they are dressing, that Baekhyun asks.

"Are you upset with me? Or… or do you regret our reunion?"

Sehun's eyes go wide, and he hurries across the room, robe still split down the middle, as he takes Baekhyun's face in his hands.

"Never," he says. "Not even once."

"Are you quite sure?" He chews his lip, staring up at Sehun with watery eyes.

"Quite sure," Sehun says, and he lays Baekhyun's head along his chest, running his fingers along the braid of his hair. "Quite sure, indeed."  
  


♔

He still feels sick in the morning, and so he spends most of his day in bed. Baekhyun leaves him after making sure he's got food to break fast with, but Sehun cannot stomach much at the rise of the day. He feels a bit better as the day goes forward, as he bathes, the sweat washed away, and by supper, Baekhyun returns with a tray, a bowl of chicken soup at the center.

"Bora told me you didn't eat breakfast or lunch," he says, worrying over his bottom lip. "Are you feeling up for dinner?" 

"I think so," Sehun says, and he sits up straight in bed as Baekhyun rushes over, setting the tray over Sehun's lap. "Thank you." 

"It is the least I could do," Baekhyun says. "Please. Should I fetch our illustrious healer to look at you?" 

"No, no, I'm fine." He smiles down at the soup, breathes in the comforting scent. "Did you eat already?" 

"I did." Baekhyun nudges the bowl of soup closer to Sehun. "Eat, eat." 

Sehun smiles as he lifts the spoon to his mouth. It is savory and salty, and it feels good settling in his stomach. He eats, and Baekhyun sits before him, speaking of the matters of the day. He talks animatedly, and while Sehun interjects on occasion, he mostly listens. Before long, the bowl is empty, nothing but a bit of broth left. 

"Go on," Baekhyun says. "Finish up." 

He lifts the bowl to Sehun's lips, tilts it gently until Sehun has swallowed it all. He tuts happily, patting Sehun on the knee before lifting the tray away. He sets it over on the table, and he crosses back to Sehun, kissing him on the forehead. 

It is then, slumping down to rest in Baekhyun's lap that he realizes that he is not ill. He only feels sick to his stomach with want. 

_Want_ , he thinks. _What could I possibly want now?_

There is nothing that he doesn't have.

He should be happy. He should be joyous. So why does a part of him still feel unfulfilled? Why does the journey not seem to be at its end? 

“Are you quite sure you are well, my love?” Baekhyun asks, and he rests the back of his hand along Sehun’s forehead. “You are not feverish, but you look so pale. Shall I fetch for Joongi? Or perhaps a cup of mint tea?” 

Sehun shuts his eyes on a smile. 

“No,” he says. “No, I am well. Do not worry yourself over me.” 

It is a while before Sehun opens his eyes once more, spots Baekhyun staring down at him, a hand brushing the hair from Sehun's face. 

"Do you know how much you mean to me?" Baekhyun asks. "I cannot help but worry. I… I'm afraid I worry for you more than I have ever worried over anyone, including myself." 

"Baekhyun," Sehun whispers.

Baekhyun shushes him, leans down to kiss Sehun sweetly. Sehun does not know whether you can fall in love with someone twice or not, whether it is simply the same love stretching out across the expanse of time, but he feels so whole as Baekhyun kisses him, feels so at home. 

And yet, it does not feel correct. 

Some part of him, a part of himself that he wishes would fall silent, misses the pilgrimage. Misses how they… how they were then. So much has changed, of course, and they cannot return to such a time. He would not want to go back even if he could, but the open roads have always called to him. Free winds pushing at his back, the sun warm on his skin. He has always craved it. And now he has been so many places, seen so many things. If it was to suppress his hunger, his thirst, it has failed in its task. 

He hungers for more. He thirsts for more. He wants to feast upon the open fields, drink the clear skies overhead. And the more he thinks about it, the sicker he becomes. What is wrong with him, that _this_ , Baekhyun's arms around his, Baekhyun's lips upon his, all of the luxuries of the world at his fingertips, isn't enough? 

It raises a question of singular importance, one that haunts him as he closes his eyes for the evening, Baekhyun at his back, huddling close. 

If this isn't enough, could anything ever be?  
  


♔

He carries the weight with him for days, and days turn to a sennight, sennight to a fortnight, fortnight to a month. He is happy, of course he is happy; he's at Baekhyun's side and all is finally well between them. He's learned to access his true power. And most importantly, the world is better for having them all reunited, the bonds between the nine of them stronger than ever. There is much to be joyful about.

But he cannot forget what he feels deep inside of him. He cannot move past it. 

Sehun goes through the days thinking of what to do on the matter, but ultimately, he settles. There is nowhere for him but here, and if he is at Baekhyun's side, then perhaps eventually, his soul will feel settled. 

"Sehun?"

He jolts, a terrible shiver running through him as he looks up at the men staring at him. 

"Did you… were you paying attention?" Baekhyun asks wryly, and Sehun feels Baekhyun's foot nudge his own underneath the table. 

"My apologies," Sehun says, and he bows his head to them. 

"Your mind is far away today," Joongi says, a hand at Sehun's back. "Are you well?" 

Does he look so unwell? Does he _look_ so unhappy? 

"I am well," Sehun assures them. "I offer my apologies once more." 

The men, Hyunwoo and Hoseok and Taeil, they snicker at each other, and Sehun sticks his leg out, gives each of them a kick. That, of course, only sends the three of them into a deeper fit of giggles, and Sehun rolls his eyes. 

"Well," Joongi says, and he looks out the window, squinting his eyes, "it's nearly fourth bell. I suppose that's good enough for today, considering the amount of work we were doing anyway." 

Hyunwoo and Hoseok nudge each other playfully as they stand from the table, and they're all sharing smiles, and Sehun smiles too—faintly, but still. They walk from the room in good spirits, and Baekhyun pauses in the doorway, turning back to look between him and Joongi. 

"Are you both coming?" 

"Y—" 

"We'll join you in a moment," Joongi says.

Baekhyun narrows his eyes comically for a moment before whispering, "You better not touch him." 

"Lose a hand, will I?" 

Baekhyun throws his head back and laughs as he exits the room, leaving them alone. Sehun looks to the floor. 

"I didn't mean to cause offense," Joongi says. "When I said that—" 

"No, no offense," Sehun says. "I did not take it harshly. You are correct. I am—my mind is far away today." 

A hand comes to his chin, lifts it up until he is staring into Joongi's eyes. 

"Is there a reason for that?" He withdraws his hand, and Sehun resists the urge to break their eye contact. "Is there anything that you need to discuss?" 

"No," Sehun says. "Certainly not." 

" _Certainly not_." Joongi smiles. "Well, if ever the time arises that you require counsel, please do know that I am available to you." 

Joongi walks from the room without another word, and Sehun is left to wonder just how he would go about phrasing such thoughts. What language he should use.  
  


♔

There is much to do, and it keeps him busy for a sennight, keeps his thoughts from wandering too far. Sometimes he dreams of the road, of the sky, of the fields and the mountains and the deserts, but then he is reminded of his place. They are in constant conversations with Gochidana, with the people of Hartcaster, too. His correspondence with Jongin is nearing its end, and by the end of the month, he will aid Yixing in the people’s transportation. And Sehun is joyous for the advancements, but something inside him… something inside him tells him that he simply doesn't belong.

Taeil is good at reading him, good at knowing when to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.

In the evenings, they take to gardening together, and there is something reassuring in the soil, the nutrients and the water. They tend to the beds, resting along the paved stones, and they pull weeds from the base of the lavender and the shasta daisies.

"You're awfully quiet," Taeil comments, and when Sehun looks up, Taeil is staring at his own hands, pulling an unsightly weed from the dirt before tossing it onto the pavement beside him.

"I am normally quiet." 

"No, you aren't."

" _Yes_ ," Sehun stresses, " _I am_."

"We can play all day, if you'd like," Taeil says. "But I know when you're upset."

"And I know when you're sticking your nose where it doesn't belong." Taeil shoots his eyebrows up, sending Sehun a look of warning. "My apologies."

"That's better," Taeil laughs.

And then he goes quiet, lets Sehun cross the rest of the way on his own. For a moment, all he can hear is the falling water, the chirping of birds, and the sound of uprooting. And in the next moment, all he can hear is his voice.

"Would you hate me if I left?" Sehun asks.

Taeil shouts a laugh, quickly lifting a gloved hand to cover his mouth before he realizes it's covered in soil. That, in turn, makes Sehun laugh, and then they sit there, giggling like children, the weeds stacked up between them.

"Would I hate you if you left?" Taeil asks to himself, scanning the soil for his next victim. "No, Sehun. I wouldn't."

"You wouldn't?"

"No," Taeil smiles. "I wouldn't."

"Why not?" Sehun asks.

Taeil sighs greatly, a shift of his shoulders as he breathes in and out.

"Because I know that, for now, you aren't happy sticking in one place," he smiles, but it's aimed at his hands digging through the earth to remove the dandelion entirely. "Perhaps your day will come where you'd like to stay somewhere for good, where you find what you're looking for, but for now...for now, I think you found a taste for the travel."

Sehun closes his eyes, tries to make the words sink into his skin, but they sit there, oil on water.

"Do not overthink such things," Taeil says. "You've spent much too long overthinking even the simplest of things. Believe in yourself. You will do what needs to be done."

As the sun sets, the open-air garden going fuzzy pink with twilight, Sehun wonders exactly what needs to be done. Couldn't he learn to be happy here? He was happy once. Surely, he could be again.  
  


♔

Baekhyun kisses him sweetly, and oh, this is something, _someone_ he couldn't possibly live without. He takes Baekhyun's face in his hands, tries to put everything into it. Years of love, years of devotion. _Take it_ , Sehun thinks. _Please._

"You're awfully precious this morning, aren't you?" Baekhyun says. "You almost make me want to stay."

"Almost?" Sehun smiles.

"Almost."

Baekhyun stands on his tiptoes there at the top of the stairs, and he kisses Sehun once more before he turns coyly, aiming a look over his shoulder at Sehun.

"Don't miss me too much, all right?" Baekhyun smiles. "I'll be back by time dinner is served, so if you feast without me—"

"Go on," Sehun shoos him, "the delegates are waiting."

Baekhyun harrumphs good-naturedly before walking down the steps, down to the street where the horses wait. Hartcaster has been laid low, all of her people safe within the arms of Gochidana and her sprawling lands. Now, Baekhyun hopes to work out a way to bottle Yixing's magic better than those pitiful healing elixirs they've been selling so that perhaps, Yixing won’t have to travel as far to do his work. Baekhyun’s smart with those types of things, the phenomena of their magic.

Sehun stands on the landing and watches Baekhyun ride through the city, the cape of his riding robe fluttering behind him as he disappears from sight.

Sehun goes about his morning, as usual, except he makes a stop by the healer's room, knocking twice at the door.

"Come in." Sehun steps inside, sees Joongi busy at the washbasin. He does not bother looking to see who's come in, simply asks, "Yes? What can I help you with?"

"I was told to come if I was ever in need of counsel," Sehun says, and immediately Joongi's head turns. "I am in need of it."

"Well…" Joongi smiles, and he washes his hands upon the towel that rests next to the basin. "You are in good luck. I've no work this morning yet, so you are my utmost priority." 

Sehun rubs his hand along the back of his neck as Joongi gestures to the cot, and Sehun sits, watches as Joongi pulls up his stool.

"What seems to be the trouble, Sehun?"

He is handsome, high strong cheekbones, a lovely jaw. His eyes are kind, Sehun's always thought so, but they seem extraordinarily kind then.

"I'm afraid I know not," Sehun says.

"No?" Joongi asks. "Not even a clue?"

He asks with a tease of a smile at his lips, and Sehun wants to kick him, so he does. Or rather, he nudges Joongi's leg with the toe of his sandal.

"You torture me so."

"All right, all right," Joongi laughs. "Shall I diagnose you?"

Sehun looks at his feet as he nods. 

"It was evident to me the moment you returned that you had changed," Joongi says. "And what a change! You had left the height of power, and when you returned, you wanted little of it. Not because you thought yourself unworthy, not because of duty, but because… well, perhaps it simply does not bring you joy as you once thought it had."

"I-It does," Sehun says, and he folds his hands across his lap. "Sometimes, it does! Truly, I wouldn't tell you falsehoods."

"I know."

"But sometimes…"

"Sometimes, it is not the destination," Joongi says. "But the journey."

"Yes," Sehun says brokenly.

A hand comes to Sehun's jaw, and Joongi looks him in the eye.

"There is much beauty in the journey. And if you are at war with yourself because you have not yet reached your destination, then do not fight it. Follow your path, wherever it may lead."

"B-But what if… what if he does not follow?" Sehun asks, and the tears leap to his eyes.

"Ah, sweet boy," Joongi says, rubbing a thumb against Sehun's cheek. "You cannot force anyone to follow."

"No, I know it well."

"But it should not matter who you lead. You need only lead yourself. If he chooses to stay… he will wait for you."

"How can you know it for sure?" Sehun asks.

"You can't, of course," Joongi smiles. "But I've faith. Have you?"  
  


♔

When he walks out onto the balcony, Baekhyun is standing there, framed by moonlight. His shoulders are dropped, forearms resting along the metal railing. Sehun takes the opportunity to watch him, watch the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his body as he stares out over the city, the dying lights of the night flaming out one by one. Soon, all that is left is the moon overhead, and Sehun stares at the ghost-white light then looks down at Baekhyun, the light gliding along him, the silhouette of his body beautiful against the night.

“I can feel you staring at me,” he says, and he turns only after the words have been uttered, the smirk directed at Sehun, a dagger to the heart. “Well met.” 

“Well met,” Sehun says. 

He goes to Baekhyun, folds him in an embrace that he wishes could last forever. 

“What’s this?” Baekhyun asks. “Such fervor.” 

“I cannot quiet it.” He tightens his arms around Baekhyun’s body, presses a kiss to his hair. “It rages within me every moment of the day.” 

“Quiet, you.” Baekhyun pushes back, still caged by Sehun’s arms. “Your passion is telling.” 

“Telling how?” 

“Just telling.” 

Sehun narrows his eyes as Baekhyun smiles brighter than the moon pouring down over them, and he leans in, kisses him. There is a strange storm inside of him, but he hushes it, focuses instead on the blinding golden light in his chest. Every time they embrace, every time they speak, every time the love flows from one to the other, Sehun feels it. He feels so strong with Baekhyun by his side, the potential overflowing. There is much good he could do. There are so many he could help. 

“Do you want to fly for a while?” Sehun asks, and he kisses Baekhyun again on the lips, on the cheek after. 

“Just a bit,” Baekhyun says, and he clings to Sehun, steps onto his feet and jolts as Sehun slowly floats up. “Ah. I’ll never get used to it this way.” 

“Lean onto me.” Sehun rocks back, and Baekhyun follows, a hand braced on his chest as they float up into the air. “Mm.” 

He rests his hands on the small of Baekhyun’s back, and they fly through the night together, through the sky and her many stars, and Sehun holds Baekhyun close in the recline of his arms. 

“You’re going to lull me straight to sleep,” Baekhyun whispers, the gentle hush of the wind rushing past them. “I’m so—there is such peace up here.” 

Sehun says nothing, only holds him as they circle the palace, the clouds acting as their bed. When he softly sets Baekhyun back on the ground, Baekhyun takes Sehun’s collar between his hands, pulls him low so that he might kiss him, and Sehun goes, takes what he’s given. 

“Thank you,” Baekhyun says, and he says it against Sehun’s mouth, words so sweet that Sehun licks his lips to take the sugar away. “Are you tired, my love? Should we rest?” 

“Yes,” Sehun says. “I think so.” 

There are so many thoughts in his head, so many… so many questions. Even though there are no more mysteries, even though he knows everything there is to know, still… there is something missing. Maybe he will feel better with rest. Maybe the feeling will disappear. He smiles, closing his eyes, and he kisses Baekhyun again, pure. 

When Sehun pulls away, Baekhyun is staring at him, and there is a sheen in his eyes. Beautiful in the moonlight. 

“You’re leaving,” Baekhyun says, and he smiles, looking over Sehun.

“What do you mean?” Sehun asks, kissing Baekhyun once more. “I am not going anywhere.” 

“Yes, you are.” Baekhyun leans forward, and he passes the smile from himself to Sehun, kissing him softly. “I can sense it in you. You are going. I do not know where, but I can feel it, your soul pulling away. You are _leaving_.” 

Sehun furrows his brow, and he braces both hands along Baekhyun’s jaw line, kissing him hard, with as much passion as he can muster. 

“I have only just returned to you.” He dots another kiss to the center of Baekhyun’s lips. “What makes you think I will leave you now?” 

Baekhyun looks up at Sehun with stars dotting his skin, celestial objects streaking across his eyes, and Sehun has to kiss him again, has to tell him somehow that the strife and the struggle is over, that they can be anything together. 

When Baekhyun pulls back, he holds Sehun’s face in his hands, a thumb against his lips. 

“You want to go,” Baekhyun says. “You’ve always wanted this. And now you can. You have the means to go wherever you want. You are finally _free_.” He breathes out, a smile drifting along the air. “And I’m so very happy for you.” 

“I-I—” 

“If you choose to settle later, you may settle. You may pick whatever lands you cherish most, you may build a home there,” Baekhyun says. “But you will be happier for having explored. For having done all that it is that you want to do. I will not let myself stand in your way. I will never be so selfish again.” 

“Baekhyun, you—” 

Baekhyun smiles, and he takes Sehun’s face in his hands. He kisses him softly, a plush press of their lips, the kind that makes Sehun shiver. 

“I love you.” He smiles again, bright, effervescent like always. “I _love_ you. You know that to be true by now, do you not?” 

“I know it to be true.” 

“Then do not fret,” Baekhyun tells him, and he strokes a thumb along Sehun’s cheek. Sehun leans into it, shuts his eyes for fear of what he might show if he keeps them open. “There is nothing that can separate us. No matter how far you go, you will never be without me, nor will I be without you. Because we are always with each other, from now until we both rest.” 

Sehun looks down, chances a look at Baekhyun, and he looks—he looks so happy for Sehun. He nearly can’t believe it. _Would you let me go so easily? Now that I am finally back in your arms?_

But perhaps this is love, the core of it. The ability to be apart, but the desire not to be. 

“Come with me,” Sehun says, a moment of desperation as he thinks about being away from Baekhyun again after all this. “Please.” 

Baekhyun looks at him, golden eyes shimmering as tears well in his eyes. _No_ , Sehun wants to say. _Do not cry. This is not the time for tears. That time has passed us by._

“Sehun, I—” 

“You were brought here so long ago. You were trapped for so long. But… but you don’t have to be trapped any longer. We can… we can go,” Sehun says. “We can go anywhere you want.” 

“I-I can’t leave.” He looks to the ground, looks back up through wet eyelashes. “Go. It is always been your deepest desire even when you knew not of it. I will wait for you here. I will keep your bed warm. I will keep your cup full for when you return.”

“I will not leave if you are not by my side.” 

Baekhyun squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head. “You cannot make your decisions based upon me." He smiles sadly at Sehun, a hand soft on Sehun's cheek. "I will not allow it." 

"You will not bar me from anything," Sehun says, and he takes Baekhyun in a kiss, one that feels soul-binding. They have always made each other _more_ , always made each other better, and when they come together, it is a symphony. When he withdraws, Baekhyun is staring at him, hopeful, mouth open, a sob in his mouth. "I pledged myself to you long ago. And you pledged yourself to me. Or have you forgotten your vow?" 

"Never," Baekhyun says. "Not once did I forget." 

"Then honor the words you spoke." Sehun takes Baekhyun's hands, holds them between their bodies, staring down at them. "Come with me." 

"Sehun, I—"

"Do not think about them," Sehun says, and he squeezes Baekhyun's hands, grounds him. "Do not think about what anyone else desires." He moves impossibly closer, kisses Baekhyun's cheek, the corner of his lips. "Has ruling ever brought you joy?" He kisses the other cheek, the other corner of his lips. "Finding your power… that was what brought you joy. Being a king has never been a choice. Now… _now_ , you make your choice." He leans back, and he laces their fingers together. "Do you want to come with me?" 

A century's worth of weight falls from Baekhyun's shoulders, the rubble crashing to the ground as he stands there, tears streaming down his face, quieting all the dust. 

"Of course I want to go with you," Baekhyun says. "I will follow you wherever you lead. I will summit mountains, I will swim across seas, I will… I would travel the plains, rise and fall with the hills and valleys. I would do whatever it took to be with you. It—," and he sobs brokenly, the sound in his chest echoing through time, "you are all I've ever wanted. This happiness you've shown me… I will spend the rest of my life repaying the debt I've incurred." 

Sehun crushes their bodies into an embrace, and he tries to remind Baekhyun of his dedication. _This is where I will stay,_ he wants the embrace to say. _Until the end of our days, I will never stray from your side. Never again._

"There is no debt," Sehun tells him. "Or if there is, then you must pay it with your days. Spend each sun with me, finding new beautiful things to love about this world." He buries a hand in Baekhyun's hair, snuggles him close. "Journey with me, far and wide, and find new ways to love me as I will find new ways to love you." He pulls back, stares into Baekhyun's eyes, into the bright molten gold. "Come with me. Pledge yourself to me. Mind, body, and soul." 

"It is done. It has been done since the moment I met you," Baekhyun whispers. "Again and again, I will pledge to you." 

"Truly?" 

"Nothing has ever been truer." He stands on his tiptoes, hand on the back of Sehun's neck as a final tear falls down his cheek. 

He kisses Sehun gently, and it says so very much.  
  


♔

They steal away under the cover of night, and the only thing they leave behind is a letter, thanking the council, thanking the priesthood. Explaining their decisions. _It is with great pride that we leave the kingdom in your capable hands_ , they write. _We do not take the abdication of the throne lightly, but we have utmost faith in you all as you have always had in us._

_We are of the opinion that such monarchical rule is unnecessary when power is left to such trustworthy and dependable individuals, but we leave the decisions to you. Choose a king, or do not. We trust in you. We depend on you. The Bichwood will never fall. The sun will never set on her, not so long as we are all living._

_We intend to spend the rest of our days traveling to the far reaches of this world, doing as much good as we can with the powers that have been granted to us. It is our hope that, when we return to share in your company once more, we will have a place at your table._

_We offer our deepest thanks for your service to this great kingdom, and we look forward to seeing the ways that you change the world for better, a better sun rising along the horizon._

Baekhyun leaves the letter at the center of the council table, covering the center of the carving, the rays of light underneath shielded. 

“Come,” Baekhyun whispers, and he pulls the hood of his cloak over his head, his hand around Sehun’s. “This way.” 

Baekhyun was always trapped, but now, he is free, his heart light, and Sehun feels his body lifting off the ground at the thought of them together, weightless. No responsibility to anything except _goodness_. They take off at a run through the silent corridors, and laughter bubbles up in his chest. This… this is what they were always meant to be. They are free. _Finally free._

“'Round the back,” Baekhyun says, and he pushes the door open, a passage that Sehun’s never taken before, and oh, it leads them right to the stables. 

He presses Baekhyun against the door, their bodies aligned, and he kisses him, tastes delivery, tastes the wind and the light. Baekhyun hushes him as he moans, the excitement, the joy unable to be tamed within him. 

When they open the stable doors, two of the daymares cross to them as if drawn by their own hands, as if by some force greater than the two of them combined. 

They leap onto their mounts after the doors are closed behind them, and the day starts to break over the line of the world, painting it all with yellow-pink light. 

“Are you ready?” Baekhyun asks, petting a hand along the neck of his filly. 

His pilgrimage starts again, starts with every sun, and with Baekhyun’s hand in his, he is eclipsed in gold. They are the sun and the moon, rising and falling as they gaze at each other from afar. 

He nods, and Baekhyun smiles, sunlight bright enough to illuminate the whole world in just the blink of an eye. 

They take to the sky. 

It is a great while before they come back down again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i thought for a solid second about pulling one on you bitches and being like SIKE, IT WAS ALL A DREAM THE NIGHT BEFORE SEHUN WAS TO BEGIN HIS PILGRIMAGE kjsjakgj imagine if i actually went through w that…... i think i would have had to jump in a lake to escape the shame.
> 
> anyway, um. the end! 
> 
> normally, i feel kinda guilty and weird talking in-depth about my process, like even saying “process” makes me feel like im taking myself too seriously, but…...it has been a long road and ive worked really hard so if you want, you can skip this and i shall be none the wiser. 
> 
> i started the first doc to this over a year ago, wrote 20k right off the bat, and shelved it in favor of other projects. i was _excited_ about it, but i knew it was going to be big (though i didnt know HOW big—initially, each chapter was planned to be about 10k), so i waited until i knew i had enough time to devote to it. i set up my posting plan back in the beginning of march, fond of the concept of posting three chapters a month over three months, and i started writing in earnest so i could meet that schedule as soon as possible. 
> 
> i managed to get it all done in about 3 and a half months. almost 160k in that amount of time! and im proud of myself for that. i don’t think it’s perfect, but i truly did try my best. 
> 
> altogether, this is the biggest project that i’ve ever undertaken in my life. this is the project to which i have devoted the most time and emotional energy. this is certainly the longest thing i have ever written, and while i never imagined it to be this length when i first started, i’m glad i never stopped. 
> 
> just here at the end, i wanted to speak on the Preachy Message. i think forgiveness is the most powerful tool we have as humans. not everyone earns your forgiveness, nor does everyone deserve it, but it is easy to hold onto anger and hurt. it is much more difficult to challenge those emotions, to learn to let go, and to find peace within yourself. and you owe it, not to anyone else, but to yourself, to find that peace. as a very silly god once said, softness is a great virtue. try to protect your softness. try to preserve it. the world needs more of it! more of you!
> 
> if you have left comments or kind words about this piece, please know that you were instrumental in me finishing it. writing is often a very lonely task, and you managed to make me feel less alone, less like i was shouting into the void. i hope to thank you all individually in the comments below. if you’ve been here since the beginning or if you picked it up recently, if you knew exactly how it would end or if you were surprised at every turn, i sincerely hope you enjoyed. it meant the Literal World to me that you read at all, let alone spent your time encouraging me. 
> 
> it feels bittersweet saying goodbye to a world that i spent three months in. im happy to move onto something new, but...at the same time, i dont know that i’ll ever write something like this again. it's been hard along the way, sometimes _very_ hard, but i do feel a distinct pride in this story the way i haven't with others, so i think that makes it all worth it. im happy we found each other, amidst all this. 
> 
> and so, for the last time for pilgrimage and from the bottom of my big stupid heart, thank you for reading. and i’ll see you all again real soon♡
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfsupremacist) | [my curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/wolfsupremacist)


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